


A Study in Movement

by Supernova12



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anderson Is a Dick, Ballet, First Kiss, First Meetings, First Time, Fluff and Smut, John draws, Light Angst, M/M, Teenlock, Virgin Sherlock, a bit of texting, balletlock, moriarty is insane, rugbyjohn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-06
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-03 02:20:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 69,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4082974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Supernova12/pseuds/Supernova12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You’re still working on that?” asked Greg motioning towards the comic book pages John held between both hands.</p><p>“Yeah... I have to work on movement apparently, so i’m gonna go watch ballet practice starting tomorrow.”</p><p>“Ballet? Really?” Greg raised his eyebrows, surprised. “Well... yeah I guess it was about time captain Watson brought another girlfriend along eh?”</p><p>John laughed “I’m not going to seduce anyone Greg! I’m just gonna go sketch them dancing and try to come up with ways to draw movement for my comic book.”</p><p>“Mhmm mhmm. Let me know how that goes eh cap?” he winked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The man in the comic

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE READ THIS:  
> Hi. This is my second attempt at a fic. no guarantees it's good from me haha.  
> Just a couple of things you should know before and if you start reading  
> 1- I don't dance ballet. Therefore if *you* do the descriptions or the movements may not be very accurate but I did my best. So if you're looking for a 100% ballet-accurate-approved fic...it's not here haha  
> 2- The rating MAAAAY change. But I make no guarantees that it will because i'm a coward who enjoys READING smut but has never actually written it  
> 3-To this point i've written exactly half of the fic (10 chapters) and will be posting around twice a week. Or sooner perhaps. So the entire thing SHOULD be here in about two months.  
> 4- comments are absolutely welcome- encouraged even. Even if the chapter was posted 3487537 years ago if you STILL want to comment please do :)  
> 5-Please be kind to me i'm scared haha

 

Seventeen-year-old John Watson was standing at the very front of his art classroom waiting nervously for his teacher, Mr.Wiggins, to give an opinion on his latest art project.

Mr.Wiggins was not a typical professor in Baker Highschool. He, unlike the other teachers, was eccentric in an extremely peculiar way; always seen carrying around a yellow waterproof poncho, no matter the season or weather, and could never be spotted wearing a suit or tie, but was rather usually seen in his baggy orange hoodie. In addition, unlike the other art professors, he was known to have a rather vast knowledge in other fields such as chemistry and mathematics but had chosen art due to passion and love for the subject.

 He had kind periwinkle blue eyes full of life and excitement that contrasted his rather sallow complexion and thin face. He also had a thin beard, a mustache and his hairline was receding despite his young age.

Mr.Wiggins cared deeply about all of his students and he always had great enthusiasm when talking about their individual projects, something John loved about him.

It was last class on a Monday so John had a free period and the classroom was completely empty except for the two of them. He was wearing his red rugby jersey that read WATSON on the back and faded jeans that were ripped in several places. John, although not the best student in art, had a true talent for making his drawings seem almost lifelike and they all possessed an almost intimate feeling due to the true care and detail he gave each of them.

 After what felt like ages, John was starting to get rather anxious until Mr. Wiggins finally turned his eyes to his student and exclaimed “Exceptional! This is truly exceptional Mr.Watson!”.

“Well, thank you sir” John grinned. He had been working on these pages for over 2 weeks and although he had only managed to finish the first few, he was still proud of his progress. After all, being the current rugby captain only took time away from his focus in art not to mention the rest of his classes, not that John liked many of them anyway.

 “I have only one problem with this… no movement, or barely any” he raised an eyebrow, amused at how hard his student had tried to mask the lack of movement through the style.

John winced internally. He’d always been appalling at being able to convey movement through his drawings. He had assumed that through this project he would be able to simply imply movement through a few exaggerated poses and onomatopoeic sounds, as he had chosen to do a comic book, but he had clearly not succeeded.

 

“Nothing to worry about Mr.Watson” Mr.Wiggins smiled “A few drawings from real life ought to help with this little problem.”

 

“Movement in real life sir? As in... drawing people running around the field?”. He tried to picture himself asking his teammates if he could draw them as they practiced and instantly dismissed the thought. His rugby friends already didn’t quite understand his fascination with drawing. They were especially confused with his captivation with drawing people, as he had always been intrigued by the anatomy of the human form. He now knew exactly how to draw proportions and poses with appropriate perspective, but that’s not exactly something his rugby friends were really interested in. They were mostly interested in girls… and rugby. That’s as far as it went.

“Not quite, John. I was thinking… perhaps it would be interesting to bring you out of your comfort zone for this particular issue. Wait a minute, let me just see…”

He walked towards his laptop and unlocked it with a couple of familiar strokes on the keyboard. After some clicks and a measured scroll with the mouse he smiled and looked at his pupil, who was shifting curiously on his spot.

“Just as I thought! Ballet practice is scheduled Monday’s and Tuesday’s after rugby practice and Wednesdays to Friday just before. As this is all taking place after school whichever days you choose shouldn’t interfere with your classes or extracurricular activities”.

“Oh, that’s… wait…. ballet practice?” John looked surprised if a little intrigued. He had to admit the thought had never occurred to him. And the schedule _did_ fit pretty perfectly with his practices, almost as if by design. He supposed ballet movement _was_ quite interesting.

“Yes! I think ballet ought to do the trick! Since your comic book begins with a retired army man looking for excitement I assume he will find it later on in the story, am I correct?”

“Well, yeah… I suppose so. I haven’t really come up with the full story just yet”

“Oh, that’s alright. Nevertheless, practicing sketching such complex and agile movement as ballet ought to help you understand more about the movement in the human body”

Mr.Wiggins peered at the man in the comic, who looked sagged and drained whilst sitting in a small gray room, looking through the window at nothing in particular. “I’m sure that whatever you decide happens with him it will require a lot of action and movement to get him out of this mindset,” he said thoughtfully

 “Yeah… I’ll see what I come up with” John smiled

 “Perhaps whilst observing ballet practices you’ll find a couple tricks on how to convey that action through your drawings hmm? Perhaps add a couple of fight scenes?” Mr. Wiggins wiggled his eyebrows excitedly.

John laughed and thanked him, promising to bring at least 2 more pages for next week, and set off to rugby practice.

 

Although John was not as tall as most of his teammates he had, nevertheless, managed to be picked as captain of his team. He had a rather small but compact and strong body and could run faster and more precisely than any of the others; something which his friends rather than reacting with jealousy, praised him on as he always helped them win games.

The blonde reached the locker rooms and sat on one of the wooden benches in between the endless rows of lockers smelling of old stanched sweat. He knew the place smelt foul but he spent so much time here by now he didn’t really mind it anymore, it seemed familiar if a little comforting to him.

He was ridiculously early so John took out his comic book pages from his folder and flicked through them as he waited for an acceptable time to start changing. John had just arrived this year to the school so he never quite knew where to go when he had free periods if his rugby teammates had lessons.

The first page depicted a battlefield where the main character, a blond man in his thirties, was crouching down behind a tall wall constructed out of sandbags, hiding from the enemy lines. Screams rang all around as the soldiers tried to reach cover or shouted orders to fire at their enemies. The drawings were slightly blurred to convey a sense of surrealism, as the entire battle was just a nightmare.

John flipped the page which showed the same man waking up from the dream and sit up on his bed, shaking. The background showed a minuscule gray room and a wooden cane balanced on the door.

The man, John still hadn’t come up with a name for him, appeared devastated and lost as he tried to recover from the haunting memories of the war. The next couple of boxes in the third and fourth pages followed him as he went through therapy and discussed the lack of action in his life and his want for new adventure.

John didn’t know what was going to happen to the man he had written, but he wanted to show him come alive again. _Perhaps he’s just in need of a friend... or perhaps he misses the adrenaline of danger,_ thought John frowning at the retired army man. The drawing seemed to stare right back at him, almost daring him to keep him in that plateau of monotony. ‘Get me out’ the stare demanded, “I’m bored’.

“John? Are you in here?” called Greg, a tall boy with chocolate brown eyes and very light colored hair that sometimes appeared to glint silver in the sunlight. He was also the vice-captain and John’s closest friend. John perhaps would not describe him as his best friend, as he always had always had trouble really connecting on the personal level with people, but he loved spending time with him. Greg was a kind boy, who although didn’t seem like it, at first sight, was actually quite intelligent and ambitious. John could easily picture him as a lawyer perhaps a police officer in the future.

“Yup. I was just waiting for you guys to start arriving so I could change” John called after him

“Alright. Come on then!” Greg appeared peeking out behind the lockers, grinning.

“I’ll be right there just give me a minute” smiled John packing up his comic pages carefully in his bag so they wouldn’t scrunch or bend.

“You’re still working on that?” asked Greg motioning towards the pages

“Yeah... I have to work on movement apparently, so I'm gonna go watch ballet practice starting tomorrow.”

“Ballet? Really?” Greg raised his eyebrows, surprised. “Well... yeah I guess it was about time Captain Watson brought another girlfriend along eh?”

John laughed “I’m not going to _seduce_ anyone Greg! I’m just gonna go sketch them dancing and try to come up with ways to draw movement for my comic book.”

“Mhmm mhmm. Let me know how that goes eh cap?” He winked and walked towards the changing rooms

John rolled his eyes dramatically with a sigh and followed him to change for practice.

…

His rugby friends were all animated, enthusiastic and extremely vociferous guys. And John loved them all. His closest friends on the team were, of course, Greg along with Mike, and Bill. Even though John had only arrived this year they had welcomed him into the team as their captain and into their group of friends with open arms. They had been there for him through the turmoil of switching schools and John’s break-ups with the few of girlfriends he had had throughout the 6 months he had been here.

By the time all the team had finished changing Greg had already informed everyone, loudly, that John was looking for ‘yet another’ girlfriend by going to the ballet studios a couple of blocks down the school to watch them dance. Before John could even try to begin protesting this ridiculous claim his entire team was loudly voicing their opinions on the subject.

“Alright, John! You SHOULD get another girlfriend!” cheered Mike “Especially after Sarah cheated on you.” he added thoughtfully, wincing.

John shook his head and opened his mouth to respond but Bill, a really tall but skinny blonde, joined in “Yeah! But… are you really going to court them by watching them dance John? Gotta say… that’s kinda creepy!”

“I’m not-”

“Yeah, bit creepy mate. What happened to the good old meeting people at parties and coffee shops eh?” Mike, he was a chubby, kind-eyed boy and the only member who was shorter than John nodded.

“Yeah is there no magic in love anymore?” called out Greg

“No no. I’m just-”

“Can you get me a girlfriend too John?” piped up Bill, grinning.

“Guys I’m REALLY not-”

“Oh my God John stop talking about your new girlfriend and let’s get on with practice yeah?” winked Greg to which they all groaned, shaking their heads at John in mock disapproval and choruses of “Yes John!” and, “Oh my god John think of the team!”.

John just shook his head at them and started them up with the warm up drills.

 

… _The next day_...

 

 _Should I just….. walk in?_ John wondered as he hesitated before the dance building. It was after school so the place was almost overflowing with people coming in and out of it and he supposed he could go unnoticed if he pretended to act completely at ease. John sighed, feeling out of place and awkward just standing looking at the walls _It’s just an hour. Go in, sketch, and then you can go home._

He squared his shoulders and walked into the massive beige building and slipping rapidly through the open glass doors.

As soon as he entered he could hear a mixture of different music tunes oozing faintly through the various rooms and into the hall mutedly. The first sight John had into the building showed a long hallway with pale wooden floors and spotless white walls covered with different types of doors, each of them numbered.  Some were glass doors and some were simple wooden ones with a small window at the very top. At the very end of the hall, there was a single spiral staircase that looked as if it was made out of glass and the ceiling had a massive chandelier right above it rising as the focal point in the whole floor.

John stood transfixed by the sheer beauty of the sight for a moment before he began walking down the hallway, not knowing where to start looking for dancers or a room where he could begin drawing. He didn’t even know how to start. Should he start knocking from door to door and hope they would let him in? And how would he explain what he was doing here? What if they thought him a creep that came here to ‘seduce dancers’ like his friends had teased him about. He started to get a bit irrationally nervous so he shook himself out of it and kept on walking.

He was thankful his trainers didn’t make much sound if he walked slowly. But he was still careful, not wanting to make a wrong step and stumble or walk too fast and make a screeching sound with the rubber of the soles against the wood. He wasn’t too keen on the idea of disturbing the dancers or calling far too much attention to himself.

From what he could see both female and male dancers were all over the place stretching, twirling and John could see many jumping and gliding through the rooms. He started after a couple of girls, in particular, both wearing soft colored leotards that clung onto their curved bodies as they spun together to the sound of a piano. _I think I can enjoy this_ he thought with a smile.

He turned back around and kept walking down the hallway. John thought it better to take a look at all the rooms and then just pick one in which to sketch after he had looked around. He reached the end of the hall and came to an open door that read “Studio 129”. The music coming from within was louder and more passionate than any of the other rooms and when John looked in he was faced with a lean, strong, male dancer in the center of the room. He seemed about the same age as John and he had a mass of wild curly black hair, pointing to all directions. He was wearing a tank top and tights, both of which were black and enveloped his body tightly.

John was instantly paralyzed with the sight of the young man’s undeniably strange, beautiful and angular face and his pale, toned body. He was gliding seemingly effortlessly through spins and pirouettes to the beat of the anguished violin. It was simply the most beautiful, entrancing sight John had ever seen and when the music stopped and the dancer frize, slowly turned his head to face him and looked at him with his greenish gray eyes in a questioning stare John could simply think _Yes. I’m DEFINITELY going to enjoy this._


	2. Studio 129

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What are you doing here? This is a private practice!” the beautiful boy snapped “Who are you?”
> 
> “Amazing” John whispered under his breath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again: I apologize if ballet is not accurate. Also, I might be updating 3 times a week not 2. 
> 
> please leave kudos if you like it and comment :) Thanks for reading!!!

 

“What are you doing here? This is a private practice!” the beautiful boy snapped. “Who are you?” 

“Amazing,” John whispered under his breath. He was dazed by the deepness, albeit harshness, of the boy's voice and missed the question entirely.

“Wait- what?” the black haired boy’s features changed from angry and defensive to startled, his pale eyes widened in surprise.

“I mean… sorry. I was just er- I came in here to look for references to work on an art project. I mean not _here_ here. Just here... the building” John babbled, thoughts rushing back to him.

The boy just kept staring at him as if he hadn’t heard a single word of what John had said. His sharp eyes were frozen in place, uncomprehending and piercing.

“A project huh?” a voice interrupted them.

They both instantly whirled their heads around, tearing their eyes away from each other; the dancer having seemingly forgotten they weren’t alone and John only just realizing so.

Both an elderly woman and a short girl with brown coloured hair were staring at them. The voice had come from the woman who was smiling at John sweetly. The girl, in turn, was staring at only Sherlock, frowning in confusion.

“Huh? Oh, yes!” John suddenly came over his trance and reacted, “My teacher recommended I study movement here, just a few sketches, nothing major”.

“Oh, that’s quite alright dear! I’m sure we can fit you in here. Just take a seat wherever you find yourself comfortable and you can sketch what you need,” she smiled. She was rather short and had soft greying blond hair that was tucked into a carefully tied bun at the back of her head. She looked like a grandmother from a classic fairy tale, soft pale skin and brown loving eyes that radiated compassion.

“Oh! well thanks, er..” John hesitated

“Just call me Mrs.Hudson dear. What’s your name?”

“I’m John”.

“Well John, just get yourself comfortable.” She motioned towards the general direction of the room and turned back to the dancer at the centre.

The blond thanked her and moved towards one of the few squashy chairs on the far side of the room. He tried to avoid looking at the boy, feeling almost naked under that watchful, knowing gaze but it was hard with the four walls of the large room being completely covered in mirrors, sliced down the middle by a wooden bar. John found himself surrounded by perfect staring copies of the boy as he found his way towards the chair.

He sat and took his sketchbook out of his black school bag along with a couple of pencils, a sharpener and a small white rubber.

John then looked attentively at Mrs.Hudson who smiled at him and motioned for the dark haired boy to begin dancing again. The dancer took a deep breath and nodded for Mrs.Hudson to start the music and then… began dancing once again.

The entire song was played solely by a single violin on the track, so the piano in the corner of the room remained neglected. But instead of the black haired boy dancing to the music it seemed as if the music itself flowed with him, bending to his will and doing as he pleased. He seemed to lose himself in the movement as he closed his eyes and raised his arms, gliding and spinning.

John could see the muscles in his arms, chest and legs all tensing and releasing. The sheer intensity of the boy’s strength was portraying itself through his flawless movements. It was so astounding that John instantly forgot all about his drawings, and his project, and his very name and instead just thought about the boy and how free he looked in dance.

The entire hour went through in a flash as both the boy and the girl took turns in the centre of the room. John learnt the girl’s name was Molly, as when it was her turn she came over to John to introduce herself with a smile and complimented the few sketches John had managed to take of the boy. John had finally started drawing once he had realized he had just been staring at him through two songs straight, and should probably get started or he would be most likely be kicked out. Not that the boy took any notice of him, mostly he seemed to even avoid looking in John’s direction.

John tried to sketch Molly as well as she danced. She really was a beautiful dancer too. She was full of grace and had a certain softness and delicacy to her movements. Her song, in contrast to the other boy’s, was in a major key and played by a piano. John wondered why instead of using the poor abandoned instrument in the room they kept playing cassettes on the stereo but thought it not his place to ask just now. As much as John tried, however, he couldn’t draw Molly. The drawings just wouldn’t come out right. They all became sketches of a blurry dancer, all covered in eraser marks and smudges.

John quickly snuck a peek at his other sketches, turning the page of his sketchbook. There was no comparison with the detail and care he had given the other two... poor Molly. They looked as if they had been drawn by a completely different person. Embarrassed, John tucked the sketchbook closer to him so neither dancer nor Mrs.Hudson could see. _I haven’t even spoken properly to the guy. Get it together Watson._

Once the clock chimed that it was 5 o’clock the raven-haired boy almost sprinted towards the far left side of the room, snatched his bag up and walked rapidly towards the exit, leaving a flustered Mrs.Hudson and a shocked John and Molly behind staring at the empty space he had left behind.

“Nothing to worry about,” Mrs.Hudson told John calmly with a sigh “He’s always like that, that young man” she shook her head and stared at the door with an expression that managed to convey both frustration and fondness.

“I can tell,” laughed John, a bit breathless.

“I hope you got what you came for dear, I’m sorry Sherlock here wasn’t more helpful. You’d think I’d be a little more used to him rushing off like that after teaching him for so long”

“It’s fine. You know him well then..uhh.. Sherlock?” _Of course he has a name like Sherlock. Of course he does._ John rolled his eyes internally, wondering if Sherlock had a million middle names like Wulfric, Augustine or William.

“Oh yes. I’ve been his teacher since he was a kid. And starting next year I’ll be renting him the apartment above mine.”

“Oh...” John didn’t quite know what to say to that “Well… thank you for letting me stay Mrs. Hudson. I hope I wasn’t too much of an interference”

“Of course not dear, you come whenever you need.” she smiled at him kindly as John collected his things and stood up from his seat.

Molly was still packing up her ballet shoes so he politely said goodbye to her and walked out of the studio.

…

 

And that’s how his routine went for the next week. John came to the studio Monday’s and Tuesday’s after rugby and from Wednesday’s to Friday’s before practice. There, he would sketch Sherlock and at least attempt to sketch Molly and some of the other dancers that came in throughout the week. John hadn’t gotten a proper chance to talk to Sherlock in all his time there as the instant the clock on the wall chimed he’d run off as fast as he could. But John swore he caught Sherlock staring at him with those sharp eyes, as if trying to figure him out from the outside once or twice.

Those eyes haunted John, were they green? Blue? Grey? Yellow and silver? He didn’t know but dammit if he wasn’t going to figure it out. Next time he saw Sherlock he’d talk to him properly, he decided.

“John?” asked Mike, bringing his friend out of his train of thought, all of which involved Sherlock.

“Oh... Sorry, Mike. Were you saying something?” John shook his head lightly to clear his thoughts

Mike frowned, looking at him appraisingly.

“What’s on your mind, John? Or who should I say?” he asked suspiciously, a smile starting to pull at his lips

“Uhh nothing… no one. Why?” John answered too quickly, a soft blush creeping up his neck.

“Hmm... It just seems.. nah, nevermind. Now hurry you’ll be late for your ballet class” Mike nudged him in the side playfully.

“I’m not _in_ ballet class. I’m just drawing.” John protested

“Well, you spend enough time there. You ought to have learned a thing or two” Mike winked at him. “Oh and don’t forget practice starts a little early tomorrow”

“Mike I’m the captain. I TOLD you guys the practice starts a bit early myself.”

“Oh...riight”.

The captain just laughed and looked around for his bag. He’d already changed so he just said goodbye to his friends and walked off towards the ballet building.

“So... we’re following him right?” Greg asked Mike, after John had left the locker room.

“Oh yeah. Absolutely.” Mike grinned back “I wanna meet the girl that’s got our Johnny’s heart all muddled up”

….

 

After today’s practice, John walked out feeling a bit dizzy, drawing twirling in the dances was definitely not on his list of favourite things to do. He could never focus enough on both the spinning before him and his drawing so he ended up raising his head and ducking back down rapidly, giving him a slight headache and the suspicion that he looked rather ridiculous trying to capture said movement.

There was a light rain dotting down on the cement pathway and a bit of wind so John huddled up into his captain jersey, stroking his hand up and down the sleeves to warm himself with the friction. His blond hair was getting a tad lengthy so his fringe kept slapping at his face lightly with the wind.

Just as he turned a corner he spotted a figure he knew perhaps too well. Sherlock was leaning against the brick wall of an alleyway, still dressed entirely in his ballet attire, without any jacket or protection against the cold. John’s heart instantly began beating faster and he unconsciously licked his lips as he moved his blond fringe out of the way, again. He then, however, spotted the lighted cigarette between the cupid bow lips and the soft trail of smoke dancing lazily away in the afternoon wind.

“Oi those will kill you, you know,” he said to Sherlock, nodding his head towards the lighted cigarette.

Sherlock turned to him and raised an eyebrow in return, looking him quickly up and down. “Says the man who is thinking about applying for the military”.

“That’s different- wait. How do you know that?”

Sherlock smirked slowly and took another drag, maintaining the silence for tension.

 “Your knees and posture told me” he shrugged after exhaling a lungful of smoke, dropping the half burnt cigarette on the ground and carefully rolling a rock with his black ballet slippers to squash out the lighted tobacco as to not damage the spotless shoes. He grimaced “low tar”, he said as if having to explain why he hadn’t finished smoking it.

“My… posture and knees?” John asked, confused, ignoring the extinguishing cigarette on the ground.

“Hmm? Oh yes, the scrapes over the half healed scars in your knees and arms too actually, due to your overly enthusiastic rugby practices. By posture I mean the rigid, defensive way you hold yourself both sitting and standing. You seek danger. Almost wait for it. That’s why the man in your comic does too. Self-portrait I see, always our first disguise method” Sherlock nodded thoughtfully at his own words.

“That’s… amazing!” John exclaimed, his face not showing a single trace of anger, fear or defensiveness at Sherlock like he had learned to expect from anyone at whom his deductions were aimed.

Sherlock stopped short and looked up at John, with the same expression he had had after John’s first words in the studio. He looked at him as if John had suddenly sprouted wings and an extra pair of eyes. John just stared right back, an easy smile playing on his lips.

 

“You… you keep saying that” Sherlock said softly, bemusedly

“Yeah- I... erm... sorry” John looked away, embarrassed  

“No no it’s... fine” Sherlock said quietly a soft pink blush spreading through his cheeks. He cleared his throat. “I should get going.”

“Uhh yeah me too… see you tomorrow then?”, John sounded a little too eager even to his own ears.

Sherlock looked away to hide his face, quickly nodded once at John’s general direction and started to strive off, bare arms wrapped around himself as a shield against the wind, his tight black tank top clinging to his slender torso.

“Sherlock! Wait!” John called after a couple of seconds

Sherlock stopped and turned towards the blonde, a questioning look in his grey eyes.

“It’s freezing, you shouldn’t be out like this” John shook his head disapproving of Sherlock’s frail, tight tank top and tights and so he stripped off his own soft red jersey, and held it out as an offering.

Sherlock hesitated, he wasn’t sure John wasn’t just mocking him. No one had ever taken a liking for him or had ever offered any kind of help before, with the exception of Mrs.Hudson. But Mrs.Hudson had never made Sherlock feel like this before, confused and nervous.

John just smiled and encouragingly extended his arm with the jacket a little more, as if aiming to tempt the dancer with the soft cotton jersey.

Sherlock’s lips twitched into a small smile and he took the jacket, wrapping it around himself and nodding his thanks to John before taking off again, a little more slowly this time.

 _Oh God,.._ thought John looking after him fondly, and secretly relishing seeing the jacket with the name WATSON embroiled at the back covering Sherlock. _What am I getting myself into?_ Only until later would John realize he hadn’t even shown Sherlock the comic he had just mentioned the army man in passing to Mrs.Hudson, nor was he wearing shorts that exposed his ever present scrapes in the knees. _Amazing._


	3. Romeo and Juliet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And I just can’t wait to audition the part of Juliet next Tuesday!” Molly kept rambling “Imagine if the give you the part of Romeo, Sherlock!! We could.. dance together… all the duets!” she was blushing a soft pink colour.
> 
> Sherlock answered with a hum that sounded un-eager to even John’s ears but Molly if anything was led on. “We should start preparing immediately!” she grinned and ran to start fiddling with the cassettes on the stereo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI :)! I don't really know what to say except thanks for reading and please leave kudos and comment if you like it.

The following day was a Wednesday so first thing after school was over John grabbed both his rugby and school bags, his school one stuffed with all his sketches and books, and set off for the ballet building. He had a huge smile on his face due to just the expectation of seeing Sherlock again so soon. Things had gone much better than expected yesterday and although he still wasn’t sure that Sherlock had any kind of interest in him, he was still willing and needing to figure it out.

John walked into the building waving happily at a couple of familiar faces in the other classrooms he had come to know, as they sometimes came to practice in studio 129 along Molly and Sherlock, preparing for the auditions of ‘Romeo and Juliet’  John had recently learnt would be starting casting auditions next week. Mrs.Hudson was an amazing and kind teacher who encouraged not only her own students, Sherlock and Molly, to come practice with her but also all the others who needed a bit of extra help or a second opinion from their own classes.

He walked into studio 129, and seeing no Mrs.Hudson nor students in sight, headed off for the far side of the room to sit on his usual spot on the ground, finding after his first couple of sessions that he preferred the perspective from below when drawing them dancing, instead of sitting on the cushiony chair. He rested his head against the soft red pillows of the chair in which he leaned his back against, waiting for Molly and Sherlock to arrive and started to take out his things to draw. He now had a full folder overflowing with detailed drawings, and rough fast sketches of not just the dances but of specific body parts and how they looked when they were in full movement. He placed the folder next to him, preferring to have it handy so he could file all the new sketches as soon as they were finished.

Unfortunately, or fortunately for John really, the drawings were all Sherlock. Whether it was only his face when in deep concentration, or his arms and back, or in a few his legs and backside in a mid-jump, or a full body detailed drawing... all the loose pages on the folder were solely Sherlock. John chastised himself for acting like a swooning 13 year old over his crush but he couldn’t help drawing him. John had, with a couple of soft coloured pencils, filled in the colour of his skin and hair  in a couple of the drawings when he went back home, unable to stop drawing the strange beauty possessed by the dancer. He had very few drawings of his entire face as a whole however, not quite being able to capture his almost out-worldly features without blatantly staring at him and giving himself away. He had also never drawn the colour or the inside of Sherlock’s eyes, never quite understanding how many colours and constellations could fit into them.

When Sherlock and Molly arrived, walking together into the class, Molly was chattering away excitedly staring at him in unconcealed rapture and Sherlock was looking down at his phone, where he was listening to music with the right headphone, so he could at least half listen to what Molly was saying. John was instantly struck by the fact that Sherlock was still wearing his captain jacket, this time not only draped over his shoulders, but worn properly. It suited him well but the shoulder area was slightly too broad and the sleeves slightly too short for his long arms. Sherlock, nevertheless, pulled it off.

“And I just can’t wait to audition the part of Juliet next tuesday!” Molly kept rambling “Imagine if the give you the part of Romeo, Sherlock!! We could.. dance together… all the duets!” she was blushing a soft pink colour.

Sherlock answered with a hum that sounded un-eager to even John’s ears but Molly if anything was led on. “We should start preparing immediately!” she grinned and ran to start fiddling with the cassettes on the stereo.

Sherlock finally looked up with a slight grimace around his eyes towards Molly but then spotted John on his usual spot. He instantly flushed a bright crimson colour on his almost-sharp cheeks looking down to John’s jacket he was currently wearing before he seemed to recover his own thoughts and turned his expression into calm and nonchalant. He took off the jacket, and slowly walked over to bring it to John.

“Thank you” he said, looking up at Sherlock

“No problem” John grinned, but then cocked his head in question “Did you bring a jacket today?”

“Yes…?” answered Sherlock, clearly lying.

John smiled  “No you didn’t. Keep it for now. You can give it back to me tomorrow”

Sherlock smiled back slightly, not meeting John’s eyes but taking the jacket back into his arms. He went back to his bag and placed it carefully inside, taking out his black leather slippers in the process and sitting down to take off his dark purple converse shoes to put them on.

“Where’s Mrs.Hudson?” asked John

“She doesn’t usually come on Wednesday’s” explained Molly “Technically today’s not a class day but Mrs.Hudson books the room for us because she knows we like to practice daily. She only comes around when she has time on Wednesdays” she smiled at John, still fiddling with the stereo and trying to find the correct song she was looking for.

“Oh” said John simply. He didn’t now both Molly and Sherlock were as dedicated to ballet as to come even on days they didn’t even need to though he guessed he should’ve known by the sole fact that they came in every weekday into semi-private classes with Mrs.Hudson.

Molly sighed in exasperation with the music and crouched to open the bureau’s drawer on which the old stereo stood, moving things around noisily searching for the correct cassette

“What are you looking for?” asked John “Maybe I can help” he stood, putting his things down beside his drawings folder and walking over to crouch beside Molly.

“Thanks. Just look for one that says ‘Romeo and Juliet tracks’ something” she said waving a hand at the disaster that the drawer held.

John started going through the endless amount of discarded cassettes and CD’s, fishing too a couple of broken en-pointe shoes and an old sock for men he did not wish to know how had ended up in Mrs.Hudson’s drawers until he finally saw a dark blue cassette that had written in silver sharpie “Romeo and Juliet tracks 02”

“This one Molly?” he held it out to her

“Yes, brilliant! Thanks John!”

John smiled at her and turned to return to his seat but was faced with Sherlock stretching so far it was almost provocative. Both he and Molly remained utterly speechless as they watched Sherlock holding one of the bars on the mirrors raising one of his endless legs until it touched his head with ease, tensing his calf muscles and pointing his toes, his tights doing no hiding of his body whatsoever but instead emphasising his every curve and muscle. John cleared his throat, flushed and flustered, and made to move quickly towards his things so he wouldn’t do something stupid like crawl all over Sherlock and snog him senseless.

Molly visibly shook herself out of her muddled state of mind as well and asked Sherlock if he was ready for the balcony scene. He hummed a vaguely positive sound but made no move to change positions so Molly decided to join him in stretching.

Most of the hour passed fleetingly as they both prepared themselves and practiced parts of the dance individually, in between more stretching exercises and a couple of breaks to drink water and gatorade. Finally Molly stood up straight and asked Sherlock to get into position.

“Fine” sighed Sherlock, he stood up carefully and with ease shifted into a practiced pose before doing his usual routine deep breath and single nod. Molly smiled at him nervously and pressed the play button on track number 4 with a click.

The music began and Sherlock’s face transformed from Sherlock looking at Molly passively, to Romeo gazing at Juliet in rapt adoration. If John hadn’t known he was acting he would’ve believed the way he his eyes softened as his arms extended towards Molly’s (Juliet’s) figure.

The music was beautiful and enchanting, and Sherlock began doing a series of complex spin with jumps around the room. His footwork was flawless as he landed without hitch after every leap,constantly crossing his ankles and raising his legs and arms in tandem. For the first part of the long movement Molly just danced lightly around him before they began dancing together. Molly’s routine consisted of a lot of strength and balance as Sherlock often carried her both sideways and from the back and softly walked with her.

They way they looked at each other was so real that John felt, aside from the open awe at their beautiful and flowing movement, a sharp pang of burning jealousy. Molly had to constantly almost seem to swoon delicately into Sherlock’s arms and he held her so close and so tightly that John could just frown as the dance became more passionate and Romeo and Juliet’s need to be close became desperately palpable.

John could almost see them in their proper wardrobe; Molly in a flowing white dress to represent her purity and Sherlock in an equally flowing white shirt and tights to match. they made a stunning pair dancing. John could tell they had been doing so together for more than just a few years by the way they clearly knew each other’s bodies and how they moved easily together. But in all his sessions observing them here he hadn’t seen them do such an intimate routine and he... Did. Not. Like. It. He glared daggers at an unsuspecting Molly as she flew across the room with Sherlock following close behind her.   

The flutes and violins reached the softest moment in the musical movement and Sherlock walked slowly to Molly preserving the tension. _Are they?…. no. They can’t. They won’t_ John thought, he was jealous enough. He wouldn’t have it if they kissed. He couldn’t take it.

They came closer and closer and Molly started to creep into Sherlock’s space, staring at his mouth intently, Juliet’s facade was slipping away and her obvious want coming forth. She leaned, clearly aiming for his mouth and puckering her lips. John suddenly saw Romeo’s facade fall too as Sherlock’s expression changed into one of sheer shock and undisguised panic. He then swiftly diverted her lips and kissed her cheek lightly for about a millisecond before retracting with an almost violent jerk. Molly seemed shocked, if a little disappointed and uncomfortable and they ended the dance somewhat awkwardly, the cellos drifting into silence.

John started clapping enthusiastically if only to break the palpable uncomfortable tension that had set in the room, in addition to having forgotten to draw at all throughout the dance. Sherlock turned to look at him, seeming relieved to have a reason to let go of Molly’s hand as they stood in the final position of the dance.

“That was incredible!” John enthused, grinning at both of them

They both thanked him and Molly remained shifting in her spot awkwardly for a few moments before the clock chimed and she looked up at it in immense relief.

Sherlock, instead of bolting as fast as he could like he usually did walked over to the stereo slowly and took out the cassette before lowering himself into the ground and taking off his slippers, and massaging his feet, wincing.

“Rough dance routine?” asked John, his eyebrows scrunching up his forehead in concern.

“Just a bit. Unfortunately my first three toes are not flat so most of the pressure of the dance ends up hurting my second toe the most, as it’s the longest” he grimaced rubbing said toe between his fingers.

John winced a bit as he saw the bruises and small but reddening cuts on Sherlock’s pale feet.

Sherlock caught John staring at his feet and said, amused ”I’m sure your knees are not much better after rugby”

John laughed “No, I guess not” he paused for a moment, the thought of rugby practice rushing into him “Oh my God RUGBY!” He exclaimed springing up to his feet so fast the blood rushed to his head and he staggered. He’d been so distracted watching the dance and now talking to Sherlock that he’d forgotten he had to leave early for practice and now he was late and he was the captain for goodness sake!

“Shitshitshitshit i’m late i’m late” he started gathering all his things as fast as he could and stuff them into his bag, trying not to bend the sketchbook pages whilst he squeezed it in between his school books.

Sherlock stood and walked over “Oh..er... anything I can help with?” he asked

“No-no it’s alright” John said quickly seizing his folder, full of the sketches he’d taken though all the ballet sessions, hastily. He grabbed it too carelessly however, and the overflowing folder snapped open, all the pages flying out and fluttering to the ground.

Both John and Sherlock stood frozen as they gazed over John’s countless drawings of not Molly, not the other dancers but all... ALL drawings and sketches of only Sherlock. Snippets of his body dancing and in standstill, his silhouette, his curling lips, his collarbones, delicate hands and the lean curve of his back and arse.

John was mortified and blushing furiously. He couldn’t breathe let alone speak to make his excuses. He couldn’t just pretend that this was normal. It couldn’t have been more obvious that John was smitten if he had drawn massive red and pink hearts spelling J+S next to his drawings, so he snapped into action and yanked them all off the ground as fast as he could, as if he could somehow erase Sherlock’s memory that they were ever there and he briskly ran out of the room without saying goodbye, leaving a frozen and stunned Sherlock in place still staring uncomprehendingly at the ground where the pages had once fallen.

 

Sherlock stood there static for what seemed hours until finally he started blinking, trying to restart his thought process and begin to understand what had just happened. He reached for the single page that John had left behind in his haste to get away.  It was a small drawing of Sherlock sitting and stretching directly in front of John in the far back, or front really, of the class. Beside Sherlock you could see John had attempted to draw Molly dance but her shape remained nothing but a soft blur of lines that held no detail. Sherlock, however, was drawn so carefully, so meticulously that every soft contour line of his body was perfect in figure and proportion. His soft black curls were drawn with such attention that the you could almost see each curve  and soft slope individually. The straight line of his nose was followed by his lips, their minute scale on the drawing managing still to convey their cupid-bow curve. The only thing John had left without shading and colour was the iris of the eyes, which he’d left blank, isolated and almost demanding of colour.

Sherlock’s rigid features softly flooded with pink and a small stubborn smile was starting to tug at the corners of his lips. He sprang into action, changing back into his purple converse and grabbing his backpack, heading off to the school’s rugby field.

  
  
  



	4. I don't mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Geez John are you okay?” Greg stepped in front of Mike towards John seeing the look on his friend’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading :P Please leave Kudos and comment if you liked it. Next update this Saturday :)

 

“So our captain that in his own words “TOLD us himself practice was starting early” is running late then” Mike said, amused and good-naturedly as John ran out of the dressing room, still pulling down his striped white and light blue uniform shirt.

“Oh... yeah. Sorry guys I got…er… caught up. Didn’t see the time”

“Geez John are you okay?” Greg stepped in front of Mike towards John seeing the look on  his friend’s face.

John looked absolutely appalled. He was as pale as a sheet and had a dull red mark on his forehead as if he had repeatedly hit it with the palm of his hand. His eyes were wide and nervous and he kept licking his lips, a habit that although John usually did anyway, it was now chapping them and making a small corner of his full bottom lip bleed. “What happened?” asked Greg.

“Nothing. I didn’t... do anything tremendously stupid. I’m fine” John shook himself, and walked over to get a ball.

Mike and Greg exchanged a look John didn’t quite understand. Mike was just opening his mouth to speak when Bill spoke up “So... boy troubles then?”

John stopped short. He turned to face them turning crimson. “Uhh what?”

They all just stood in complete silence exchanging looks with each other before Mike said, quickly and cringing “Wefollowedyoutoballetclass”. Greg turned to glare at him, betrayed.

“You did what??” John snapped his head towards him

“Mate, we don’t care if you’re gay or bi! That tall, dark haired bloke is pretty handsome, we all admit it!” they all nodded quickly at Greg’s words.

John just kept opening and closing his mouth like a fish, unable to speak and quickly turning an even deeper shade of vermillion. He pressed the palms of his hands against his closed eyes and sighed “Okay... Okay. Let’s start over yeah? What happened?”

Greg cleared his throat still glaring disapprovingly at Mike and Bill before turning towards John looking a bit sheepish. “Okay.. we uhh.. we followed you to the ballet building yesterday because, well.. you were acting funny. All distracted and day dreamy.” he waved a hand

John finally uncovered his eyes to listen as Greg continued with his story

“And we saw you through the small window in the door of a studio. Studio 129? And you were openly staring at this other bloke. A tall guy with curly black hair? And you had this same dreamy expression on your face. And you guys kept stealing peeks at each other so we figured…”

John sighed again and nodded “Yes. Fine. I like Sherlock.”

His entire team, all 14 of them started cheering, all of them having eavesdropped on the conversation and John didn’t doubt they’d all gone to spy on him yesterday, not just Mike, Greg and Bill. He didn’t really care. They were bound to find out about his sexuality sooner or later, John just wished it had been a little later.

Paul, a tall ginger all covered in freckles slapped John in the back and asked him excitedly “So Cap... when’re you gonna ask him out?”

That was met with another round of applause and cat-calling to which John couldn’t help but laughing along. “After what happened today…” he shook his head and bit his lip “probably never”

they all groaned in protest “Why John? What happened? It couldn’t have possibly been that bad!” Mike smiled encouragingly.

“Tell us what happened” said Greg seriously, leaning forward attentively. Apparently now they were all just forgetting about the supposed practice they were meant to be having in favour of discussing John’s problems in his potential love life in a very support group-like manner. The entire team huddled around so they would  be able to listen, giving John no choice but to sigh yet again in surrender and take a deep breath to begin telling them the short but rather embarrassing story.

When he was done describing the look of sheer shock on Sherlock’s face seeing John’s somewhat copious amount of drawings of him and how he had been unable to move, he finished by telling them how he had run away without another word, basically sprinting to the door.

“Oh… yeah mate that’s umm..” Greg started

John groaned. “No no don’t even tell me how bad it is. I’m not going back there.. I can’t”

“You might still see him mate..” Mike started nervously “Sherlock.. well.. he kind of goes to our school”

“What?” What do you mean?”

“Well just that: Sherlock goes to our school…” Said mike hesitantly. John started to protest but Mike stopped him raising a hand for John to listen to him “He’s in our year-group but our school being as big as it is you probably just haven’t seen him or share any classes with him. He’s in my chemistry class. I didn’t recognize him yesterday, Greg here kept hogging the window” He turned to shake his head at him and nudge him in the ribs with his elbow “but now that you mentioned his name….”

John stared at him in shock before he face palmed his forehead and the mark at the top of it expanded slightly “Great. Fantastic. Just what I needed”

“It’ll be alright mate.” Bill put his hand on John’s shoulder squeezing lightly.

“Yeah no.. It doesn’t matter anyway. He’s probably just gonna avoid me now anyways. No idea what i’m gonna tell Mr.Wiggins when he asks why i’m no longer gonna go to ballet class” he laughed

“Just tell him Sherlock’s arse was too pretty and you spent your time drawing that until he noticed and had to leave” shrugged Greg, to which they all laughed and slapped their captain playfully on his arms and back. John just smirked a bit embarrassedly “Well I wouldn’t be lying” he mumbled causing another round of light hearted teasing and hoots.

Eventually they did start practice and John felt, although still embarrassed, significantly better knowing that even if somehow something ended up happening with him and Sherlock they wouldn’t think any less of him because of his bisexuality and they would support him through anything. They ran through the field, throwing and kicking the ball and through all the chaotic delight of the game none of them  noticed a tall, thin, dark haired figure peeking behind the bleachers through the trees.

 

… _After practice...._

 

“So what’re you gonna do mate?” Greg asked John, wiping the sweat out of his forehead with a small white towel and grabbing his gatorade with the other.

“I don’t know… probably just move to Madagascar. Or I hear chances of dying in Australia are pretty high” John sighed, before taking a huge gulp of water and spraying some on his hair and face.

Greg chuckled but fell suddenly silent and turned to John whispering “I wouldn’t start packing just yet” and discreetly motioned with a nudge of his head towards the cement bleachers that surrounded the edge of the rugby field.

John raised a questioning eyebrow and turned to see what Greg was motioning towards and his heart skipped several beats. There, on the edge of the bleachers, stood Sherlock looking undeniably uncomfortable and nervous, shifting on his feet. He was wearing John’s jacket and had a piece of paper held in his right hand, looking anywhere but at John. Even with his shoulders hunched and hid hair messed up by the wind he still managed to look like the cover of the ‘Sexiest-men’ magazine.

 

“Oh god” whispered John

“Go to him!!” squeaked Mike as he ran over to John and Greg, having too realized Sherlock was here waiting for the captain and had apparently informed everyone else on the team while he was at it. They all grinned at John and not so subtly carried on with what they were doing. John shook his head at them disapproving, and walked towards Sherlock’s figure.

 

Once he reached him Sherlock turned to look at him with those indescribable eyes and for a few moments they just stared at each other in complete silence not quite knowing what to say or where to start. Finally John cleared his throat and started with a soft voice

“Look Sherlock… I umm.. I’m really sorry I-”

“No! nono it’s okay….what you did… that was..er..good” Sherlock babbled quickly, his voice slightly wavering.

 

John stopped short, stunned “Oh.. uhh. thanks” He smiled shyly at Sherlock, who had in turn ducked his head to look at his feet, avoiding John’s gaze.

“So..” Sherlock continued. He cleared his throat delicately “You only...drew me”

“Yeah” John admitted “I really am sorry I just… well.. I-”

“It’s okay” Sherlock interrupted again, risking a glance at John and meeting his eyes “I don’t mind”

“You don’t?”

“No. I did however, notice you’ve never drawn the iris of my eyes. Why is that?” Sherlock asked

“To be honest I can never quite figure them out” John laughed looking into said eyes glinting cyan and grey.

Sherlock huffed a small laugh “I could stay still and you could… try to draw them.” he suggested almost shyly “If you want to of course” he added quickly. The blush was spreading further up his neck.

“What? Really?” _Damn don’t sound so eager_ John reprimanded himself

“Of course. I mean as long as it does not pose an inconvenience for my ballet practice i’m certain we can find a time.”

“So how about after practice tomorrow?”

“Don’t you have rugby?”

“...Right.” _Focus John_

Sherlock chuckled low, the sound ringing in John’s chest as an echo “After your practice then. I’ll text you the address”, John could see his confidence growing again.

“Sure.. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow” John smiled

Sherlock nodded quickly and turned to leave but John suddenly bursted, remembering “Wait Sherlock you don’t have my phone number!”

“Please John” Sherlock scoffed as if the idea of needing to ask someone to obtain their phone number was preposterous. “I’ll text you” he assured him.

“Right.” John laughed, watching him climb up the bleachers and leave.

John let out a breath he felt he’d been holding since he’d seen Sherlock and turned to his team, none of which even pretended they hadn’t heard everything as they gave their captain thumbs up, high fives and fist bumps before they all went to the showers to get cleaned up. Mike demanded a retelling of everything that had happened and seemed so genuinely happy for John that the captain could only vow to himself to do something for Mike too.

As John was leaving the locker room with a smile covering his face from ear to ear the main man in his comic came into his mind. If this poor, worn down man really was a self-portrait like Sherlock had said yesterday, he too would have to find excitement soon in his life. _Perhaps,_ thought John, _all he needs is to meet his own Sherlock Holmes._


	5. Still on?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John spent the entire following day a bursting bundle of nerves. He’d dated people before, he’d kissed people before and he’d...done other stuff with people before. The problem here was that none of those people had been 1)Guys or 2)Sherlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!!! Yes I know you want John and Sherlock to get it on already but i'm afraid we'll have to wait just a bit more ;)  
> Please leave kudos and comment if you liked it!  
> Next update will be on Monday!

John spent the entire following day a bursting bundle of nerves. He’d dated people before, he’d kissed people before and he’d...done other stuff with people before. The problem here was that none of those people had been 1)Guys or 2)Sherlock. Not that John hadn’t been attracted to guys before, he had, but he’d just never acted upon it. If he was being truthful he’d never quite felt as attracted to anyone as much as he did to Sherlock and John didn’t know how to deal with all the stress of knowing that. Even though he’d never once seen Sherlock around school he spent the entire day scouring the corridors with his eyes looking for the familiar curly head. Each time he ended up disappointed as he did not spot him through the mass of people.  

“Mate calm down” Greg laughed all through the day whenever he spotted his friend doing his usual scan of the room or checking his phone as if in the last few seconds a message would’ve magically appeared on the screen; and John simply hadn’t heard it even though he’d been thinking about literally nothing else. John would just turn to look at him wide eyed and innocently as if he had no idea what Greg could possibly be referring to, he’d never been more calm. Honest.

John walked into his last class, biology, having turned his nerves into full on excitement. At least he’d see Sherlock, before what he hoped classified as their first date, in ballet class and he just couldn’t wait to get out of there.

“Hey John” he heard as he sat down on his usual spot next to his friend, a pretty blond girl called Mary. John had had a crush on her at the very start of the school year once he’d arrived but back then she had been dating someone else John didn’t know; some guy called David. John had gotten over his crush pretty quickly after finding that out. He did not like the kind of girls (or guys for that matter) that flirted with others even whilst in a relationship, but had been happy to become her friend and lab partner afterwards.

“Hey Mary” he turned smiling merrily at her, almost bouncing with the need to spring out of his seat and run to the ballet studios. “How’ve you been?”

“Good umm… David and I broke up” Mary said, turning completely in her seat to face John properly, a suggestive look glinting in her eyes.

“Oh” John responded feeling awkward. Should he point her in the direction of someone else that could be interested? Bill perhaps? Or would that be too presumptuous? Or should he tell her about Sherlock so she’d know he wasn’t interested? But would that also be rude? He wasn’t sure. Besides, John wasn’t exactly ‘out’ yet… not that he really minded people knowing he was bi now that he knew he had his friend’s support... but still.

John had no idea what to do so he just nodded along to Mary’s retelling of her break up story and her wishing she could find someone nicer to date whilst staring obviously at John’s lips. He answered by clearing his throat and laughing a bit weakly. Luckily, just in that moment Mr.Peterson walked into the classroom and asked for the attention of the class. John almost sighed in relief.

When the final bell rang John yanked his bag from below his chair and sprinted out of biology at full speed, almost smashing the door and leaving his entire class staring at him in surprise. He ran out of school, shouting his goodbyes at Greg and Bill as he passed them whilst they were walking down one of the corridors. They raised their hands, turning back to look at him running and looked at each other, grinning widely. Seeing their captain and friend truly happy was one of the best things in the world and  they knew that John of all people deserved to be happy.

John ran the two blocks from school to the ballet building at full speed but when he practically dashed into studio 129... Sherlock was nowhere in sight. Molly was there. And so was Mrs.Hudson. They had both had been absorbed in a conversation about the upcoming auditions when John burst into the room and they snapped their heads towards the door in shock.

“John! Why the rush?” laughed Mrs.Hudson pressing a hand to her chest to quiet her hammering heart from the shock.

“Oh. I..er-thought I was late?” it sounded like a question

Molly shrugged, accepting John’s obvious lie and came over to greet him properly.

Mrs.Hudson just looked at him knowingly. “Sherlock called earlier. He said he can’t make it to practice today” she said looking straight at him, one corner of her lips curving down in sympathy.

“Oh?” he responded softly, still out of breath as Molly’s smile fell at her words.

“How come?” she asked.

“Something about a murder I don’t know dear, you know how he is”

“A WHAT?” John shouted, his eyes widening in alarm

Mrs.Hudson just looked confused at John’s outburst for a moment before she just giggled and told him it was nothing to worry about.

John raised both eyebrows at Molly who just shook her head and told him to ask Sherlock to explain later. John, still utterly confused, went to his usual spot, disappointed by the Sherlock shaped hole in the class. He figured that if anything this was a perfect opportunity to try to draw Molly...again. But he couldn’t help but worry that Sherlock had not come to the class to avoid him. Maybe he was having second thoughts about their meeting? He hadn’t texted John all day so he had nothing to go on.

A couple of extra dancers came into the room and asked if they could practice here today. Mrs.Hudson welcomed them warmly and began supervising them as they danced together to another Romeo and Juliet dance. “We’ll start with a slower number to warm up alright kids?” Mrs.Hudson said to them. “John?” he looked up to her from his blank sketchbook page “Could you put on the track that reads Montagues and Capulets dear?” she asked him sweetly

John nodded and walked over to the old stereo and found the track, clicking it on.

 

Although the music was powerful and beautiful, for the first time in the few weeks John had been there, class dragged on at an impossibly sluggish pace. John, uninspired, gave up on trying to draw any of the several dancers he had in view and decided to watch them instead. This, to his surprise, did speed up the lesson a bit. They were all beautiful dancers and the choreography, although a bit rusty due to the fact that they hadn’t really begun to practice it as a whole yet, was still quite lovely to watch. John observed raptly as the dancers circled each other.

The music was slower than the balcony dance John had previously seen in the sense that it asked for a more formal kind of dance. It seemed as if they were all at a ball, carefully tiptoeing and swaying to the powerful tones of the brass instruments. The horns were especially loud, and the sudden loud clashes seemed to resemble clashing swords, at unexpected intervals. It was quite enchanting watching so many dancers moving synchronously with the same or similar movements, appearing an even larger number as their reflections swirled across the mirrors surrounding the class.

After a long hour the class ended with the now familiar chime of the clock and John stood up wincing, stiff from the cramped position he had stayed in for the entire hour. He checked his phone, yet again, but seeing no new missed calls he sighed gloomily and walked the two blocks back to school at a slow, dreary pace

The wind was pushing him down so, shuddering, he zipped up his unprotecting thin black sweater and hugged his arms against his chest. John looked up at the forlorn grey covered sky and wondered if Sherlock still had his rugby jersey and if so, if he was wearing it right now. _What is he doing anyway? Why would he have anything to do with a murder?_

As soon as he walked into school grounds heading for the locker rooms Greg came running towards him “No practice today John!” he shouted  “Coach Moran says it’s gonna rain pitchforks in a couple of minutes and that he’d rather not have us struck by lightning and fried just yet.”

John groaned “Aw come on! We’ve practiced in foul weather before!”

“Yup, that’s exactly what Mike and I said” Greg agreed, having reached John and slightly panting. “He’s not having it though” he muttered. Just then a sharp strike of lightning lit up a dark cloud above them, almost instantly followed by a  thundering rumble.

John looked up  to the sky again, frowning. “Well we better get going then” he muttered and they started jogging towards the parking lot and exit together.

“So how was practice with Sherlock today?” Greg shouted over another slap of thunder and the veil of rain that was slowly thickening with every squelching step they took on the forming sludge.

“He was a no show” John called back loudly, his voice sounding faint. The rain was making it hard to see so John quickly motioned towards his silver honda as he spotted it, silently asking Greg if he wanted a ride home. Greg nodded thankfully and they ran towards it together through the cold torrent at a full sprint.

The warmth of the inside of the car was heavenly and John shut the door, quickly followed by Greg who signed in pleasure for the dry plain air. As soon as they warmed up a bit and stopped shuddering they threw their bags onto the back of the car and John started the engine.

“So.. .a no show then? You know why?” Greg asked softly

 _Cause of a murder apparently_  thought John. “Nope. No idea” he answered instead.

Greg just shrugged “He probably just had some stuff to do I wouldn’t worry about it mate. He seemed pretty interested yesterday from what I heard- I mean… from what you told me…” He managed to look a bit guilty at his words.

John laughed “Yeah… I don’t know. Maybe he changed his mind. It’s alright” he smiled slightly thinking very loudly to himself that it was most definitely not alright but not wanting Greg to go on a search for a girlfriend or boyfriend for him.  Greg didn’t look fooled anyway but he clearly thought it wiser not to say anything and just pointed John to the directions of his place as the rising mist made it harder for John to see along with the swooping wiper blades and the fat drops of rain splattering the glass of the windshield.

John dropped off Greg, raising a hand to him in farewell as he reached the front porch of his house and looked back at him. The rain was finally slowing into a light, steady trickle and John relaxed against his seat. He was just about to drive off again when his phone vibrated in his pocket. The blonde instantly snatched it from his trousers and unlocked it with a couple of swipes on the screen. His face broke into a grin as he read the new text he’d received from an unrecognized number.

 

_[Unknown number]  sent 3:22 PM_

_Still up for that drawing session? -SH_

 

John quickly typed out his response and hit send with slightly trembling fingers.

 

_[John] sent 3:23 PM_

_Absolutely :) Where should we meet?_

 

He tapped his fingers against the wheel waiting for a response and adding the mobile number to contacts as “Sherlock” until his phone vibrated again. He checked it and the text contained an address so he re-started the engine and drove off, nervous to see Sherlock again.

  
  
  
  
  



	6. Look at me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John walked down the pathway to what he presumed was Sherlock’s house. He’d been utterly speechless driving into the street and finding houses instead of restaurants or perhaps a coffee shop where he had assumed Sherlock would want to meet. It was, instead, a beautiful pristine neighbourhood full of rich and enormous households. John had had gazed open mouthed at the gargantuan house where the number 221b was printed in polished marble on the sleek black front door

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again thanks for reading, commenting and leaving kudos <3<3
> 
> Next update on Wednesday :)

John walked down the pathway to what he presumed was Sherlock’s house. He’d been utterly speechless driving into the street and finding houses instead of restaurants or perhaps a coffee shop where he had assumed Sherlock would want to meet. It was, instead, a beautiful pristine neighbourhood full of rich and enormous households. John had had gazed open mouthed at the gargantuan house where the number 221b was printed in polished marble on the sleek black front door, and had carefully parked his honda as best as he could, not wanting to stand out much more than he already did.

As he arrived to the door he looked self-consciously down at his ripped plain faded jeans and soaked blue t-shirt and sweater. He grimaced, hoping they would dry quickly and thanking the gods that at least his jeans were almost completely dry but for the humid rings of fabric around his ankles that dragged slightly on the floor. He put his bag containing his sketchbook down and shook his hair with both hands to dry it a bit as it was still dripping with rainwater and clinging to his forehead. He took a deep breath and ignored his thundering heart as he hesitantly knocked on the door.

Sherlock opened it instantly, almost as if he had been waiting right behind it for someone to knock. John took a step back surprised by the suddenness of the motion but stopped short as he saw Sherlock smiling at him timidly. He was not in the usual tight tank top and tights John was now used to seeing him in, but was wearing the usual converse and skin tight black jeans with a narrow black belt holding them up and a t-shirt that matched the deep purple colour of his converse.  

“Hey” John breathed out, a corner of his open mouth tugging upwards.

“Hello” Sherlock answered with that deep rumble of a voice that should really be illegal in John’s opinion. He cleared his throat and motioned the blond inside “Come on in John”

The blonde steeped into the door and turned to Sherlock, grinning “I’d say nice place but I think that’d be a rather big understatement”

Sherlock’s scrunched his nose in distaste “Hmmm I’ve always kinda hated it.”

“Really?” John looked at him, curiously.

“It’s far too…” Sherlock he looked around, waving a hand “tidy”.

John laughed, his heart warming at the sight of the tiny wrinkle in the middle of Sherlock’s nose, resisting the urge to smooth it with a kiss.

“So umm... where do you wanna do this?” John asked

“Let’s go up to my room. My parents aren’t home right now but i’d rather not have Mycroft sticking his large nose where it doesn’t belong.” said Sherlock, starting to walk towards the massive spiral staircase that closely resembled the one John had seen in the studio. This one, however, was made completely out of white polished marble. _Wow. understatement indeed._

John started following Sherlock up the stairs “Who’s Mycroft?” he asked

“My annoying brother and not my problem right now.”

“Right” John decided not to push it further. He knew exactly was sibling rivalry was like and always hated it when people pushed him to talk about Harry, his older, rebellious, tyrannical and all round angry sister.

Harry had always been a very closed person. Their entire childhood had consisted of her bullying him to his limit to make his patience snap. She was jealous of the attention he received from their mother and the way he seemed to have ease with almost anything. But even when she came to terms with her insecurities and came out as a lesbian she was still unhappy, and almost disappointed with the lack of anger her sexuality incited from her mother. John had always suspected all she had wanted by that point was an opportunity to burst out at her in what she deemed justified anger. Eventually Harry went off to college and all John ever heard from her were the desperate calls he sometimes received from her girlfriend Clara when Harry came home to their apartment drunk and Clara needed someone to help her deal with and take care of her.

John shuddered at the thought of his older sister and instead focused on following Sherlock through the extensive hallways of his house. Or mansion, really.

Once they reached Sherlock’s room the dancer went straight to his massive double-bed and plopped himself of the foot of the spotless white mattress, curling his long legs under himself and looked over to John motioning onto the headboard of the bed. John took out his sketchbook and walked over to the side of the bed. “I’m all wet” he grimaced, not wanting to dampen Sherlock’s duvet or pillows.

“It’s alright” Sherlock waved a hand dismissively, just take off your sweater and t-shirt and i’ll give you one of mine. Only fair really”.

“Oh don’t worry about giving me back my jersey. It suits you better anyway” John flashed a flirty grin, and took off his soaked sweater, revealing his equally wet t-shirt underneath that clung tightly onto his flat, toned abdomen and thick biceps. John might not have the height, but he certainly made up for it with strength.  

Sherlock blinked really fast a couple of times before he jumped out of his bed and snatched a sweater from his closet. He threw it at John before turning around, a pink blush tainting his entire face as he sat back down on the bed, avoiding looking at John directly. John missed this entirely as he was busy taking of his sodden shirt and put on the sweater, zipping it up almost to the top to keep himself from shivering and sighing at the dry warmth.

John finally took a seat next to Sherlock with his sketchbook. He reached into his bag on the floor and took out a couple of different pencils and his usual eraser and sharpener. He asked Sherlock to get into a comfortable sitting up position facing him and began drawing the shape of his face.

Being allowed to draw Sherlock without having to turn reluctantly away every couple of seconds as to not get caught was an entirely new experience John was happily basking in.

“So... how come you weren’t in ballet practice today? I heard some interesting theory about a murder” John laughed

“Theory?” Sherlock scoffed “There WAS a murder”

John stopped drawing for a second. “What do you mean? How were you involved in that?”

“The police ask for my help when they’re out of their depth. Which is always. I say police but really my brother sends me there so he doesn’t have to go. Hates legwork” the final k was pointed with a clink of his tongue

“How do you help them?” John was intrigued. Could Sherlock possibly get any more interesting? Every second spent with this boy just opened up more doors into his impossibly complex persona and mind.

“The same way I knew about your need for adrenaline and plans to join the military, and the fact that you’ve been raised by your mother due to an absent father. I observed.”

“That’s amazing” John said, awed before he re-started drawing “How can you tell about my mom?”

“Your jeans and chin” Sherlock shrugged “Your jeans are faded but not by design, the colour itself has worn down and so has the fabric. This is due to not just constant wear but the fact that they have been owned for a long time. Ripped in several places and stitched back together in most. So lack of income or you would’ve bought a new pair, added to the fact that the jeans even whilst new weren’t expensive” he took a breath and continued

“So, single mother working alone and providing for both of her children. Both? Childhood scars cover arms, they say bully not friendly games gone wrong. True, you could’ve been bullied in school but your personality is too strong for that so older sibling it is. Now why single mother and not father? Your chin has small cuts, so no one was present to teach you how to shave and you’ve had to learn on your own. So divorced parents. Raised by mother.”

“Wow.” John said, stunned. “You’re brilliant!”

Sherlock blinked; once again stunned by the lack of outrage he was used to “You think so?”

John laughed “Absolutely! That was extraordinary. Quite extraordinary”, he shook his head in wonderment, looking down at his drawing.

The dancer beamed, pleased with himself “Did I get anything wrong?”

John looked back up at him, his smile fading “Ummm.. well. my parents aren’t divorced. My mum’s a widower”

“Oh” Sherlock breathed lightly “I’m sorry John” he looked at him, his eyebrows scrunching together.

“It’s alright” John assured at him, his eyes soft “I was so young when he passed away. I don’t really remember him” he shrugged a bit sadly before shaking himself out of it “I don’t know anything about you though. How about your parents? Do you get along with them?”

Sherlock paused, thinking “I suppose so. They’re a bit overprotective, like Mycroft, but they leave me be.”

“That just means they care and don’t want you to get hurt” John smiled to which Sherlock rolled his eyes dramatically, without heat “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself”

“Mhmm is that why you were walking around without a sweater in this freezing weather?”

“Says the man who was until 5 minutes ago soaked to the bone and shivering” Sherlock quipped back.

John opened his mouth to retort something but, finding no way to back himself up he huffed jokingly “Oh yeah? well...l i’m supposed to be drawing your face stop distracting me” he winked,

Sherlock grinned in triumph but seeing John’s answering mock glare he tried not to laugh. His shoulders were shaking lightly with its repression “You started it” he grumbled out of the corner of his mouth. His eyes were beaming and John could swear he had never seen anything more wonderful. His heart warmed, leaving no trace of the beating frigid rain.

John had thought Sherlock would be an awful model to draw in the sense that he would get bored of being in a single position for more than 20 seconds. But Sherlock stayed perfectly still looking at John intently with almost nervous eyes. John could’ve easily confused him with a greek statue, his pale features so perfectly shaped and smooth. He had had people model for him before but he had never felt so absorbed in what he was drawing. He appreciated all the planes of Sherlock’s unique features, smooth fair skin and the soft curves of his lips and eyes as he drew them across the plain white surface of his sketchbook.

They didn’t speak for at least half an hour but Sherlock never took his eyes off him. He wasn’t worried or even curious as to what the drawing looked like, having always thought his features were at best strange and unappealing. But he liked the way John looked at him. It was wondering and almost longing. Before Sherlock knew it he was feeling relaxed and comfortable, something that was usually unachievable even with people he had known for years. Like Molly for example; he liked her well enough but just not the same way he knew she felt about him. Whilst he tolerated and sometimes even enjoyed her company he was never quite at ease around her. Mycroft was another example; he had loved him as a child until they had grown apart when he left for school when Sherlock was merely a 5 year old. Now he barely even tolerated him. John however, was absorbing in both conversation and silence.

“How did you get into ballet?” John murmured suddenly in the companionable silence they were surrounded by. Not due to the

“My mother used to be a ballet dancer when she was young. Eventually she quit due to an injury that made it difficult for her to stand on her toes and jump. She signed me up for lessons when I was just a kid. But even when she allowed me to, I never quit… I love dancing”

John smiled down at his drawing, smoothing out some of the curves he had drawn for Sherlock’s soft unruly curls. “I can tell. You always seem so content and loosened.”

“Are you implying i’m not always content and loosened?” Sherlock laughed

“No of course not you’re always so cheerful and sociable” John said seriously raising his eyebrows

Sherlock chuckled “Fine. I just… I just don’t get along with people. Most usually tire me after i’ve deduced them. And they never quite...understand me. So I usually prefer to be left alone.”

“I understand you” John whispered quickly, unable to stop the words.

“I know” the atmosphere suddenly became charged. The ease of the moment stopping and the tension heightening. The slight scratch of John’s pencil on paper stopped as he lowered it down to look at Sherlock properly through timid hooded eyes.

“Do I…” John hesitated, not sure if he wanted to hear the answer “Do I tire you?”

Sherlock looked at John for a moment, his features softening. He averted his eyes for a second as he cleared his throat “No. I don’t think you could.” he murmured, finally looking up at John with nervous eyes.

John opened his mouth to say something, anything. He could ask him out to a proper date (was this even a date? They hadn’t really talked about it and John didn’t even know if Sherlock was interested in men at all. Let alone him), he could ask him if he felt the same, he could’ve said anything in the few second he had before a voice interrupted them drifting from downstairs, “Sherlock! Come down for dinner it’s getting late!”.

The voice of who John assumed to belong to Sherlock’s mother who had just arrived at the house shattered the charged ambiance as Sherlock turned his head towards the door and John blinked quickly, suddenly seeing the darkness that had grown around them and was now completely enveloping them. “I should probably get home” he said quickly, standing up and gathering his things.     

“Oh umm...yeah okay” Sherlock stumbled out raising rapidly to his feet too not quite knowing what to do with himself.

“Can I just give this to you tomorrow?” John signalled towards chest covered in Sherlock’s tight grey cotton sweater. “Assuming that your….murder thing is over by then” he added with a smirk

Sherlock grinned “I solved that in about an hour John don’t be dull. And yes, i’ll see you in practice tomorrow… as usual”

“Right. You still have to tell me about the murder.” he gave Sherlock a pointed look

“You would... be interested in hearing about it?” he seemed surprised

“Of course! How often does one get to hear about real life solved murder stories?”

Sherlock shrugged “I hear them all the time”

“Yes but you’re you” John said brightly, stuffing his sodden clothing on the front pocket of his backpack and taking his now closed sketchbook into his arms.

They stood there for a moment, not quite knowing where to look. “I’ll uhh… walk you out then” Sherlock offered and started walking away, John following him closely.

Once they reached the huge front door John stepped out into the front porch and turned back to Sherlock “This was great. Thank you.”

“Thank you? For what?”

“For indulging me in letting me draw you” John laughed “And for... talking to me. About you”

Sherlock blushed a little “Anytime” he smiled

They looked at each other for a moment, not wanting the evening to end. Moonlight really was flattering on John’s face, Sherlock thought. It accentuated the deep blue of his eyes. The colour was dark so sometimes it appeared to be black or brown at first glance with the shadow John’s hair cast on them, but when Sherlock looked into them right now he saw midnight. The thought suddenly struck him that in the entire time John had been here Sherlock hadn’t been bored or frustrated at all. Granted, he had had a case earlier this afternoon but he had never enjoyed someone else’s company so much since he was a child and he spent his afternoons learning to deduce with Mycroft. Sherlock’s glance flicked quickly to John’s soft pink lips and back, feeling the same charged atmosphere in the room building up again.  

When he meet John’s glance he saw the same answering emotion in them, strong and real and suddenly Sherlock felt nervous and afraid. “I should… er…. probably get inside. Goodnight John” He said quickly, his voice slightly trembling as he stepped swiftly inside and closed the door in one single motion.

He stood there staring a the closed door and pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes _idiot idiot idiot_ he berated himself. _John must think i’m absolutely useless at this. Whatever..this is._

On the other side of the door however, John was walking towards his car grinning to himself and thinking, or perhaps just hoping, that maybe he wasn’t so alone in his feelings towards Sherlock.


	7. At last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John was drawing furiously as Sherlock and Molly danced together. Up until this point he had had to sharpen his pencil twice already as one tip had worn off in the first 5 minutes of hard use and the second had snapped instantly with the pressure John was inflicting on the poor paper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!!! <3<3  
> As always: comments and kudos are immensely appreciated :)  
> Next update on Friday! :)

 

John liked Molly well enough. Deep down he really did. She had always been nothing but sweet and nice to him, from the very first day he had arrived, and she was smart and talented. But right now if John had his way he would like it very much if she would go away forever and back. The. Hell. Off. His….his Sherlock. Rationally, he knew he had no kind of possession or held even the right to be possessive over Sherlock but he could not help himself.

They were dancing the balcony duet again. The past awkwardness of Molly’s kiss attempt had evidently passed and she was once again looking at Sherlock as if he was Romeo himself reincarnated at long last just for her Juliet. This time Molly had decided to opt for another approach to seduce or attain Sherlock’s attention and had started flirting with him as soon as the class had begun.

The most poignant of the many ways she had done this was asking for help with stretching by requesting him to hold her leg as high as he could while she balanced herself on his shoulder and looked straight into his eyes, causing not just Sherlock but Mrs.Hudson to look away feeling uncomfortable. John had instead prickled with irritation and stared at Molly as if willing her to sense his anger.

Rationally John had thought this behaviour incredibly unlike her, seeing as she had always seemed so shy and reserved. But something had changed. Perhaps Molly thought she had been too subtle in the past. She was clearly making up for it now. She looked as if she was daring Sherlock to do something, as if she was testing a theory or giving this crush one last shot.

John was drawing furiously as they danced together. Up until this point he had had to sharpen his pencil twice already as one tip had worn off in the first 5 minutes of hard use and the second had snapped instantly with the pressure John was inflicting on the poor paper. His lines were darker than ever as he drew Sherlock facing Molly with a controlled expression, unlike the first time they had danced the duet where he had looked in character, conveying his expression to look almost as enamoured with Molly as she did now. The drawing was angry, dark and forced. Sherlock, who always looked ethereal and almost godlike in the pure beautiful way John drew him here he looked… dangerous. The darkly shaded edges to his face made him look sharp and menacing. He still looked beautiful but in a more threatening way. Every sharp edge of his lean body was defined and emphasized. His body was embracing Molly (or the shape in John’s drawing that was meant to represent Molly) but his eyes were looking straight and piercingly at John.

The part with the kiss, John noticed gratefully, was completely skipped by both Sherlock and Molly in an unspoken agreement; probably to avoid any more uncomfortable moments afterwards. Instead they kissed each other’s cheeks lightly, it still seemed uncomfortable but it was better than what had happened last time.

Once the dance finished John clapped, he felt obligated to as Mrs.Hudson was cheering, but his own clapping sounded timed, monotonous and slightly forced to his own ears so he just congratulated them quickly and ducked back into his drawing, grumbling under his breath so neither dancer could hear him.

Molly cleared her throat loudly and looked over to Sherlock, “So... Sherlock?” she inquired softly

Sherlock hummed noncommittally so she would know he was listening, or at least half listening. He had turned away and grabbed his bottle of water and was now spraying his face carelessly, closing his eyes as the crystal liquid trailed down his chest and ran down into his usual black tank top. His pronounced collar bones trapped some of the water in the chasms and John wondered if they would taste as sweet as they looked. 

Molly stopped mid-sentence, having forgotten what she was going to say having obviously had a similar thought process to John’s. Honestly, John didn’t blame her for that part at least. He, himself had stopped pretending to draw and was just staring unashamedly.

Molly blinked a couple of times to reinstate herself and then steeled herself before practically spluttering out “Wouldyoulikesomecoffee?”

Sherlock placed the water bottle down and turned to her swiftly, “Yes, thank you Molly. Black. Two sugars” he answered simply, before walking to the centre of the room and lowering himself into the ground and spreading his legs into a split position, reaching forward with both hands as far as he could until his forehead touched the ground with a soft thud.

Molly seemed dumbstruck at his obvious misunderstanding that she was asking him out on a date. John let out a relieved breath as Molly muttered an agreement under her breath and quickly left the room.

“Oh Sherlock! That poor girl!” Mrs.Hudson chastised him, shaking her head. “I know you don’t feel about her the same way that she feels about you, but perhaps you could make an effort to be a little more understanding of her, dear”.

Sherlock hummed again, clearly not interested in where the conversation had turned. Mrs.Hudson tutted at him again. “I’m going to get some coffee myself. You want anything John?”

“Oh no thank you Mrs.Hudson that’s very kind of you” John smiled at her

Mrs.Hudson nodded back at him and left the room, her small heels clicking on the wooden floor with every step, the sound fading away.

Sherlock stood up abruptly, startling John, and after positioning himself he started dancing alone, almost seemingly oblivious of the fact that there was no music playing and he had an audience. His eyes were closed, as they usually were when he danced, and he was clearly much more focused on this private practice than he had been on the previous duet with Molly. He was extending his arms and stretching himself upwards with every leap. His expression was one of pure bliss as he threw his leg upwards and jumped, spinning. John wished he knew what kind of music Sherlock was thinking for himself right in that moment, wanting desperately to hear it too.

“Beautiful” he murmured

Sherlock stopped dancing at once and opened his eyes, looking at John intently. His cheeks were gaining colour from both the compliment and the dancing. He stumbled in the position he had stopped in but rose quickly, trying to play it off as intended. “Thank you” he breathed out. “And i’m sorry” he added quickly afterwards

“For what?” John frowned slightly

“For practically closing the door on your face yesterday” He looked down at his leather slippers. They hadn’t really spoken since the lesson had started. Sherlock had been feeling awkward and that John might not wish to be... whatever he was with him anymore. John hadn’t actually noticed Sherlock was feeling uncomfortable, being too busy glaring daggers at Molly as she pressed herself against him while stretching and dancing.

“Oh… That’s okay. It was getting late anyway. _Someone_ had to tell me to leave” John laughed easily, seeming unaffected by the memory.

Sherlock smiled, still unsure but his shoulders relaxing visibly.

“So...” John started “Tell me about the movement in your arms when you leap like that”

Sherlock arched an eyebrow at him. “I bet you could tell me yourself. You know plenty about human anatomy”

“I still want to know properly” John grinned, now a little more used to Sherlock knowing him like the palm of his hand with a single look.

Sherlock smirked “Very well. Stand up and come here”.

When John complied Sherlock stood closer to him, almost up against John in his personal space. He raised both hands and, after a moment’s hesitation, he reached out and placed them gently on John’s forearms, curling his cold fingers around them and causing John to shiver slightly at the shock of the different temperatures.

“When you raise your arms above your head or even just extend them for a jump in ballet this muscle” he squeezed lightly with both hands “called ‘flexor carpi ulnaris’, tenses slightly with the movement of the elbow. It’s difficult to tell but the tension gives the movement more stability.”

He slid his hand higher up John’s arms softly “Then you have the ‘brachialis’ and the ‘biceps’, the most obvious muscles that tense with the movement. Of course we also have the triceps here below-” He slid his right hand in curve with John’s left arm, almost stroking the muscles gently “-these tense as well but it’s less perceptible than in the biceps”

Sherlock swallowed hard.

John’s mouth, in turn, was starting to feel dry with the feeling of Sherlock so close and almost up against him. He had to resist the urge of pinning him to a door and trapping his hands above his head so he could kiss him.

Sherlock was blushing again, but he was looking directly at John, determinedly and deliberately. He raised his hands a little more up John’s arms until the reached the shoulders and his hands rested upon them warmly and delicately.

“The Deltoid muscle is crucial” his voice had softened to nothing but a soft, deep murmur “It’s the muscle that allows the movement of the rise…” Sherlock brushed his fingers on the slight dip on the joint in John’s shoulders before wordlessly sliding his hands until they cupped John’s neck at the sides, his pulse visibly hammering below his chin. He stopped talking, stopped breathing entirely as he looked into John’s eyes and stepped closer.

John met Sherlock’s clear aqua eyes and slowly rose his hands to Sherlock’s thin, lean waist, cupping his sharp hipbones with both hands. He knew that if there was a moment to make a move, that moment was now or never. He flickered his eyes from Sherlock’s eyes to his lips, in silent plea for permission and was answered by Sherlock mimicking his movement timidly, his eyes staying gazing at John’s slightly more pronounced lower lip and licking lightly at his own. _Screw it_ thought John

He rose a bit on his tiptoes and tilted his head in one brisk movement and finally, finally captured Sherlock’s gorgeous lips with his own.

Instantly John’s hold on Sherlock’s waist tightened and he surrounded Sherlock with his strong arms as Sherlock slid his hands into John’s hair in one swift movement. Their eyes were closed as they slid their lips together, at first hesitantly then, as they slowly gained confidence, with fervour.

Sherlock turned his head to perfect the joining of their lips and sighed in contentment at the feeling of John’s full wet lips against his own, sucking softly on John’s lower lip. John hummed in answer and deepened the kiss opening his mouth. Sherlock lowered his right hand and scratched his nails against the nape of John’s neck teasingly and traced John’s tongue with his own, and 

A gasp followed by the thud of something hitting the ground broke them apart, their lips separating with a loud and wet pop. John snapped his head towards the door, surprised.

Molly stood there frozen behind a spilled coffee cup on the ground, staring at them in horror and shock. “Ohmygodi’msosorry” she spluttered rapidly. “I...I’ll just...uhhh” she stood there for a brief second before turning and walking out rapidly without looking back, her face flushed a deep vermillion and her eyes wide with shock.

John’s arms had tightened even more around Sherlock, remembering how she had asked him to raise her leg and feeling the echo of his past jealousy thunder through his veins.

Sherlock huffed a laugh, clearly unbothered by John's strong arms wrapped around his thin body “Possessive much?” he chuckled, stroking the thumb that rested on John’s neck in circles.

“Only when others want what I do” he grinned in answer, liking it when Sherlock blushed at his words “I feel kinda bad though... she did like you a lot” John sighed, his face falling a little in guilt

Sherlock raised his hand and stroked John’s cheek with his thumb softly “It’s really my fault. I should’ve told her girls were never exactly my...area”

John gave out a small laugh, gazing again at Sherlock’s lips for a small moment before he shut his eyes once more and closed the distance between them, feeling the building ecstasy at being allowed to hold and kiss Sherlock at last.

 

 

 

 


	8. Is this just fantasy?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Satuday texting ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little bit different. I wanted to try out an only texting chapter- I hope it's alright :) If it's not your cup of tea don't worry it'll go back to normal next chapter.  
> Thank you so much for reading, commenting and leaving kudos <3  
> Next update will be on Sunday :)

SATURDAY----

 

_[John] sent 2.30 PM_

Hey :)! I never did give you your sweater back. Should I bring it to practice on Monday?

 

_[Sherlock] sent 2:32 PM_

_That’s alright John. I don’t intend on giving back your red rugby jacket so you might as well keep my sweater-SH_

 

_[John] sent 2:35 PM_

_Well…That jacket does look good on you ;)_

 

_[Sherlock] sent 2:40 PM_

_Oh no. Are you one of *those* people John?-SH_

 

_[John] sent 2:43 PM_

_Those people?_

 

_[Sherlock] sent 2:45 PM_

_Yes. The people who constantly send emoticons-SH_

 

_[John] sent 3:02 PM_

_O.O What?-I don’t know what you mean D:?_

 

_[Sherlock] sent 3:10 PM_

_Now you’re just being deliberately obtuse-SH_

 

_[John] sent 3:20 PM_

_Fine haha But you’re one of *those* people who sign their texts. What’s up with that?_

 

_[Sherlock] sent 3:26 PM_

_Nothing wrong with signing texts. It’s formal-SH_

 

_[John] sent 3:40 PM_

_We’re also 17/18  year olds you realize ;)_

 

_[Sherlock] sent 3:42 PM_

_Again with the winks. Although you do wink a lot in real life too. Nervous tic perhaps?-SH_

 

_[John] sent 3:20 PM_

_Is this not real life’? Is this just fantasy? Caught in a landslide...no escape from reality!_

 

_[Sherlock] sent 3:30 PM_

_That was mildly concerning. Shall I call an ambulance?-SH_

 

_[John] sent 3:32 PM_

_It’s bohemian Rhapsody!_

 

_[Sherlock] sent 3:47 PM_

_…-SH_

 

_[John] sent 3:50 PM_

_The song?_

 

_[Sherlock] sent 4:13 PM_

_Nope. Must’ve deleted it-SH_

 

_[John] sent 4:35 PM_

_That’s it. For our next date we’re having a music education session_

 

_[Sherlock] sent 4:58 PM_

_..Date?-SH_

 

_[John] sent 5:12 PM_

_Well.. yeah_

 

_[Sherlock] sent 5:30 PM_

_Are we…dating?-SH_

 

_[John] sent 5:35 PM_

_I… thought we were… It’s okay if you don’t want to date. I didn’t mean to assume. I just thought after yesterday we might be.. but if you don’t want to that’s okay too. We can just be friends. If you want that._

 

_[Sherlock] sent 5:37 PM_

_John, stop rambling. I can hear you thinking from all the way here. Yes. I suppose i’d be alright with the term ‘dating’. I just had not thought of it that way-SH_

 

_[John] sent 5:40 PM_

_Oh, thank god I thought I was making a fool of myself here. Soo… we’re dating then?_

 

_[Sherlock] sent 5:47 PM_

_Yes John. I’m not fond of repetition. But yes I guess we’re dating. -SH_

 

_[John] sent 5:52 PM_

_Good :)_

 

_[Sherlock] sent  6:00 PM_

_Good. You said in your previous texts “next date” though? What was our first date?-SH_

 

_[John] sent 6:03 PM_

_Well I was counting the time you asked me over to draw you_

_[Sherlock] sent 6:11 PM_

_John I hardly think shutting the door in your date’s face is appropriate enough to be able to define said evening as a proper ‘Date’.-SH_

 

_[John] sent 6:20 PM_

_Alright I’ll guess we’ll have to fix that then :)_

 

_[Sherlock] sent 6:24 PM_

_Now that I think about it I didn’t get to see your drawing that day-SH_

 

_[John] sent 6:40 PM_

_Oh… I didn’t quite finish it._

 

_[Sherlock] sent 6:56 PM_

_You should’ve said. We can make time again if you want. How come you did not finish?-SH_

 

_[John] sent 7:14 PM_

_Sure that’d be great! I was... a bit distracted_

 

_[Sherlock] sent 7:26 PM_

_Oh? Whatever with John ;)?-SH_

 

_[John] sent 7:29 PM_

_Sherlock Holmes did you just WINK at me??_

 

_[Sherlock] sent 7:40 PM_

_Peer pressure.-SH_

 

_[John] sent 7:47 PM_

_I’m only one winking guy! How much pressure to send emoticons could I be exerting on you? LOL_

 

_[Sherlock] sent 8:02 PM_

_Oh God don’t say LOL. I take my wink back-SH_

 

_[John] sent 8:10 PM_

_Nope. Can’t take it back i’m afraid. It’s non-refundable when both participants are flirting._

 

_[Sherlock] sent 8:12 PM_

_Hmm. Fine. -SH_

 

_[John] sent 8:13 PM_

_So you admit you were flirting with me? ;)_

 

_[Sherlock] sent 8:29 PM_

_My God. Goodnight John-SH_

 

_[John] sent 8:35 PM_

_Goodnight Sherlock ;)_

 

_[Sherlock] sent 8:45 PM_

_Stop it with the winky faces-SH_

 

_[John] sent 8:47 PM_

_Make me ;)_

 

_[Sherlock] sent 9:00 PM_

_Was that innuendo?-SH_

 

_[John] sent 9:02 PM_

_Maybe ;)_

 

_[Sherlock] sent 9:05 PM_

_Fine. Goodnight ;)-SH_

 

_[John] sent 9:10 PM_

_Goodnight ;)_

 

_[Sherlock] sent 9:12 PM_

_Are we really going to sleep at 9:12 at night?-SH_

 

_[John] sent 9:14 PM_

_You said goodnight first_

 

_[Sherlock] sent 9:17 PM_

_I was trying to steer the conversation away from my flirting attempt-SH_

 

_[John] sent 9:20 PM_

_Attempt? I’d say it worked pretty well ;)_

 

_[Sherlock] sent 9:24 PM_

_...Oh-SH_

 

_[John] sent 9:25 PM_

_Yeah_

 

_[Sherlock] sent 9:27 PM_

_Well… I’ll figure out how that happened. And anyway, why would I need a music education anyway. I’m very musically adept i’ll have you know-SH_

 

_[John] sent 9:32 PM_

_Sherlock you probably still don’t know who Queen is. And we had this conversation hours ago!_

 

_[Sherlock] sent 9:35 PM_

_Queen? A Queen is a ruler of the female gender who inherits the position by birth. In other words a female monarch. What does that have to do with music taste? Does the Queen dictate what is or isn’t musically pleasant?-SH_

 

_[John] sent 9:38 PM_

_Haha No, Sherlock. The *Group* Queen._

_What do you mean about musically adept anyway?_

_[Sherlock] sent  9:42 PM_

_There’s no such thing as a group of Queens is there?_

_I have a wide range of classical music knowledge. I play the violin. -SH_

 

_[John] sent 9:47 PM_

_Oh my god._

_Really? That’s amazing! You have to show me some time_

 

_[Sherlock] sent 9:50 PM_

_If you like-SH_

 

_[John] sent 9:53 PM_

_I play the piano a bit. I’m not very good though_

 

_[Sherlock] sent 10:00  PM_

_I know-SH_

 

_[John] sent 10:04 PM_

_You know I play the piano or you know i’m not very good?_

 

_[Sherlock] sent 10:09 PM_

_Both._

 

_[John] sent 10:15 PM_

_Ha-ha HOW could you possibly know that?_

 

_[Sherlock] sent  10:25 PM_

_You stare at the piano in studio 129 every time you walk in. Almost as if resisting the urge to go and play it. If you were good at it- or considered yourself so (not everyone who thinks they’re good at instruments is actually good. In fact most people are abysmal) you would’ve played it whenever the opportunity arose- such as last Wednesday when Molly and I walked in later than you into the classroom. You didn’t. therefore-  not good. Or don’t consider yourself so anyway -SH_

 

_[John] sent 10:32 PM_

_Damn. That’s incredible!  We’re whole blocks away from each other and you can still read me like a book._

 

_[Sherlock] sent 10:36 PM_

_I just observe. It’s nothing out of the ordinary-SH_

 

_[John] sent 10:42 PM_

_It’s completely out of the ordinary. You’re completely out of the ordinary_

 

_[Sherlock] sent 10:47 PM_

_Is that... a good thing?-SH_

 

_[John] sent 10:48 PM_

_Absolutely! How could you doubt that?_

 

_[Sherlock] sent  10:55 PM_

_Most people find be to be… a bit of a “freak” as they like to call it-SH_

 

_[John] sent 11:03 PM_

_Who says that?_

 

_[Sherlock] sent 11:14 PM_

_No one. Nevermind John._

 

_[John] sent 11:16 PM_

_You shouldn’t listen to others. They’re idiots._

 

_[Sherlock] sent  11:20PM_

_It’s fine John I don’t want a guardian-SH_

 

_[John] sent 11:23 PM_

_Doesn’t mean you don’t need one._

 

_[Sherlock] sent 11:30  PM_

_I’m fine.-SH_

 

_[John] sent 11:32 PM_

_Alright, alright. SO...you play the violin then?_

 

_[Sherlock] sent  11:35 PM_

_Nice segue-SH_

 

_[John] sent 11:37 PM_

_Thanks ;) I *am* known for my knowledge of steering conversation topics_

 

_[Sherlock] sent 11:45 PM_

_Of course. But to answer your question yes. I’ve played since I was five. My mom chose ballet for me but she allowed me to choose an extracurricular activity for myself that in her words “does not involve corrosive chemicals or small dead animals found on the street”-SH_

 

_[John] sent 11:46 PM_

_Why would you need dead animals and corrosive chemicals when you were five?_

 

_[Sherlock] sent 11:48 PM_

_Experiments. The violin did not quite change my experimentation habits as my mother had hoped but it did prove more interesting than I had expected, such as ballet. -SH_

 

_[John] sent 11:53 PM_

_Of *course* you experiment. Is that how you know information to solve cases with the police? Cases which you STILL have to tell me about you remember._

 

_[Sherlock] sent 11:55 PM_

_All in time John. All in time-SH_

 

_[John] sent 11:57 PM_

_And now you’re being all mysterious again_

 

_[Sherlock] sent 12:04 AM_

_Mysterious?-SH_

 

_[John] sent 12:05 AM_

_Yeah you know, with your...cheekbones and how you make pauses when speaking for tension to appear cooler_

 

_[Sherlock] sent 12:10 AM_

_I don’t do that-SH_

 

_[John] sent 12:13 AM_

_Yes you do :P_

 

_[Sherlock] sent 12:16 AM_

_Abandoned the winky face have we?-SH_

 

_[John] sent 12:20 AM_

_Not quite. Did you miss him ;)_

 

_[Sherlock] sent 12:24 AM_

_Nope. Stop winking ;)-SH_

 

_[John] sent 12:25 AM_

_Nono I can’t just NOT wink if you wink at me again_

 

_[Sherlock] sent 12:28 AM_

_Fine i’ll attempt to restrain myself from winking again-SH_

 

_[John] sent 12:33 AM_

_What are you doing anyway? Are you going to sleep?_

 

_[Sherlock] sent 12:37 AM_

_No i’m working on a ballet choreography -SH_

 

_[John] sent 12:39 AM_

_you’re dancing at 12:40 at night_

 

_[Sherlock] sent 12:44 AM_

_I’m choreographing mentally-SH_

 

_[John] sent 12:46 AM_

_You can do that?_

 

_[Sherlock] sent 12:48 AM_

_Of course. It’s not that hard when you have the song in your head-SH_

 

_[John] sent 12:51 AM_

_What song are you playing?_

 

_[Sherlock] sent 1:00 AM_

_...I’d rather not say-SH_

 

_[John] sent 1:05 AM_

_Oh come on tell me! ;)_

 

_[Sherlock] sent 1:07 AM_

_...Bohemian rhapsody-SH_

 

_[John] sent 1:10 AM_

_You listened to it???_

 

_[Sherlock] sent 1:12 AM_

_Evidently. Since i’m playing it my head and choreographing as we speak. I’ve confirmed Queen is a musical group and not a group of monarchs-SH_

 

_[John] sent 1:15 AM_

_I feel like i’ve taught you something :’)_

 

_[Sherlock] sent 1:21 AM_

_Yes well... It’s an interesting song at most. I’ll admit i’m pleasantly surprised by your musical knowledge so far-SH_

 

_[John] sent 1:24 AM_

_I’m flattered. You have to show me the choreography you come up with_

 

_[Sherlock] sent 1:25 AM_

_It’ll have to be after Tuesday. I have auditions-SH_

 

_[John] sent 1:33 AM_

_You’re auditioning? I thought it was just Molly pressuring you to._

 

_[Sherlock] sent 1:35 AM_

_No, I do want to. They’ll be agents at the opening of the play. If I get cast as Romeo it could open gates for bigger shows and productions and hopefully later on a steady career. -SH_

 

_[John] sent 1:37 AM_

_You’ll be cast. I guarantee it ;)_

 

_[Sherlock] sent 1:40 AM_

_We’ll see. I hate to admit it but Carl, Victor and Jim are capable competitors-SH_

 

_[John] sent 1:42 AM_

_Friends of yours?_

 

_[Sherlock] sent 1:43 AM_

_Not even slightly. I don’t really have friends. Apart from yourself and Molly.-SH_

 

_[John] sent 1:46 AM_

_Molly probably hates me now…_

 

_[Sherlock] sent 1:48 AM_

_Hardly. She’s upset but she was starting to suspect I wasn’t into the female population so she was testing her theory by being… a little overly flirtatious to see if she caught my attention-SH_

 

_[John] sent 1:50 AM_

_I noticed. The whole balancing leg thing. And the staring_

 

_[Sherlock] sent 1:51 AM_

_Do I detect jealousy John?-SH_

 

_[John] sent 1:54 AM_

_A bit, yeah_

 

_[Sherlock] sent 1:56 AM_

_Don’t be-SH_

 

_[John] sent  1:58 AM_

_I’ll try ;) I should probably get to sleep. Goodnight Sherlock_

 

_[Sherlock] sent 2:00 AM_

_Goodnight John ;)-SH_

 

_[John] sent 2:01 AM_

_:) Goodnight Sherlock_

 

_[Sherlock] sent  2:03 AM_

_You said that already-SH_

 

_[John] sent 2:04 AM_

_Well you keep answering_

 

_[Sherlock] sent 2:05 AM_

_Because YOU keep answering-SH_

 

_[John] sent 2:06 AM_

_Fine. I’ll let you have the last word ;)_

 

_[Sherlock] sent 2:07 AM_

_Thank you. ;)-SH_

  
  



	9. First Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hey John?” Mary tapped his shoulder so he would turn to look at her
> 
> Oh no “Yes Mary?”
> 
> “Ummm… Some tall bloke by the door is staring at you” she whispered, her eyes widening in question

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting early cause it's fathers day!<3 (Happy fathers day!)  
> Also this is a longish chapter- I wasn't exactly planning on this one but it just sort of...happened. It's basically sort of fluff so...  
> Thanks for reading!!! please comment and leave kudos if you liked it <3<3  
> (also there's a How I met your mother reference... just cause)

****

The following Monday John spent his time once again searching for Sherlock in school. He was, however, nervous at the anticipation of seeing him. Not because he doubted if his feelings were returned, now that they were officially at least dating, but because wasn’t quite sure what was the appropriate conduct now that they _were_ dating. If they were in an official relationship John would just greet him with a kiss like he had done with all his past relationships, and if they only friends he would just have a manly-back-slapping-hug like he did with the rest of his friends.  But dating? John had never dated a guy before. Should John kiss him anyway? What if Sherlock didn’t want his sexuality to be common knowledge in the school?  What if he rejected the kiss like he had with Molly and it all just turned into an awkward mess? 

John hadn’t told his team about his shared kiss with Sherlock after ballet practice on Friday, nor had he told them afterwards. He knew his friends approved of Sherlock and they accepted John completely but he wanted to keep this to himself right now. At least the beginnings of the opening bud that was this relationship, it was still new and fragile and John wanted to keep these precious first moments to himself. His team could be overbearing, something all of John’s past girlfriends had come to learn form first hand experience. Not that they were rude to them or anything but they were always a little too involved and John was secretly afraid that such enthusiasm would scare Sherlock off. He’d just caught him and he didn’t want to lose him so soon, or at all for that matter. He knew he’d only met Sherlock a couple of weeks ago but he’d never felt quite as attracted to anyone.

Yesterday he and Sherlock had texted again, all day and most of the night. Sherlock had told him about some of his weirdest experiments with body parts, acid and ash and John, like a gentleman, had been as interested as anyone else could be on the hundreds of different types of tobacco ash and decomposing bodies dipped in acid. John had told him more about his sister and his relationship with his mother. He had been surprised by how understanding and caring Sherlock could be. John had told him about how after his sister left for college both her and his mother had developed alcohol problems and no matter how hard john had tried to help them they grew resentful of him. He told him how when they moved here at the start of September john had decided to get his own flat close to his mother’s house, so he could take care of her but not be overwhelmed by her negativity and new found love to disapprove all of her previously favourite son’s choices.

John, sighed, having not found Sherlock in the crowds of moving students to their classes and headed for his second to last class on Monday’s, biology, before his free period where he would go to Mr.Wiggins and have his new comic pages checked.

The blond walked into class and took his usual seat next to Mary, who was already there chatting animatedly with the girl behind her, Janine. Janine was Mary’s best friend, a thin, tall brunette who was currently in a relationship with the richest in senior year Charlie Magnussen. No one really knew why they were together, Janine was a very sweet girl and Charlie was…well… creepy. He was always followed around by another kid John had seen at the ballet, Jim.

Jim Moriarty was pretty creepy too, but in a more subtle way than Charlie Magnussen. He was a short, black haired boy that sometimes smiled a little too widely when passing you in the hallway and sometimes stared a little too long with those unsettling black eyes. He had a soft singsong voice that could somehow make chills raise up your neck and he had pearly white teeth he flashed at every possible opportunity. John had never actually spoken to him but he didn’t have the yearning too, Jim always seemed to scan you when he stared. Almost in a Sherlock-like manner but Jim managed to make it seem menacing as if he was preparing to use what he saw against you whenever the opportunity or the need arose.

“Hey John!” Janine called as she saw him sit down and take out his biology text book from his bag.

“Hey! Janine, Mary” he nodded to both of them, smiling.  

“Where did you run off to after last class?” Mary asked

“Oh... Nowhere. I had rugby practice” John blurted without thinking. He wasn’t keen on Mary of all people being the first to find out about his relationship when he was put under pressure. If he wasn’t telling his rugby mates yet, he sure as hell wasn’t telling Mary before them.

“I thought rugby started at 4 on Thursdays?” she now looked suspicious, her gaze was shifting between John’s eyes. _How on earth does she know that??_ John thought to himself.

“umm… Yeah it does. I just wanted to work on my art project.”

“Oh! You can draw? I didn’t know that!”

“Yeah, I draw sometimes… I’m just working on a comic right now for Mr.Wiggins.”

“You should draw _me_ sometime” she purred at him, batting her eyelashes flirtatiously.

John huffed out a weak laugh “Yeah… sure thing…”

The rest of the class was, thankfully, spent without any further hitch. Mr.Peterson had them work in groups of four for a practical experiment on cheek cells and the stages of cell mitosis so Mary spent her time talking to Janine and John stayed with Janine’s usual lab partner, Michael.

The lesson went on in relative quiet up until the bell chimed, signalling for the end of the class. John started to rise out of his seat.

“Hey John?” Mary tapped his shoulder so he would turn to look at her

 _Oh no_ “Yes Mary?”

“Ummm… Some tall bloke by the door is staring at you” she whispered, her eyes widening in question

John, without turning around knew immediately it had to be Sherlock and he turned around rapidly, grinning. His eyes met the sparkling grey of Sherlock’s eyes and all his previous worries of not knowing how to act in front of him anymore vanished. Who cares if the entire school found out they were dating? John was happy about it. He didn’t want anyone else and if people here didn’t like their rugby captain being bisexual, well they could find themselves a new one for all John cared.

He snatched his back quickly from the ground and went over to Sherlock who smiled at him timidly. “Hey” John said quietly

“Hello” Sherlock murmured “I admit I wasn’t sure if you’d approve of me waiting for you here. I know you have free period so I wanted to catch you before you left”. His voice was steady but John could tell he was nervous as his face was glowing a light, rose pink colour.

“What? Of course you can! I would’ve looked for you myself but I don’t actually know what classes you take. How did you find me? And how do you know I have free this period?” Sherlock hadn’t even explained himself and John already looked intrigued and impressed.

Sherlock shot him an ‘Oh-Please-John’ kind of look and chuckled under his breath before turning his eyes and looking at something behind John’s back. Suddenly he didn’t look quite as pleased as he had been a moment ago and the ease he had had before vanished.

“What’s wrong?” John asked, his brows furrowing in confusion as he saw Sherlock starting to frown, his delicate blush paling. “What is it?” John turned his head around and saw Mary staring at them intently, frowning and wary.

John started to voice his confusion to Sherlock as to why he was frowning at Mary when Sherlock’s delicate fingers softly, but determinedly turned his head by pressing into his right cheek towards him again. John blinked in surprise at the openness of the touch in front of everyone else moving around them, granted it was only a couple of people including Mary but… still. Before he could even open his mouth, however, Sherlock flicked his gaze towards Mary again for only a second before turning back to John and tipping face up gently by the chin, ducking his head at the same time to press a brief but heated kiss on his lips.

Time stopped as their lips met. John hummed in half amusement, half surprise and kissed back instinctively, not really caring who saw at the moment. _Sherlock must’ve deduced Mary wanted to get together with me. Well I suppose this is an effective way of letting her know I’m not available...or interested really. _

When Sherlock pulled away and their lips slid from each other’s the blonde breathed out a soft laugh, his eyes still closed “Hmm... possessive much?” he wriggled his eyebrows, teasing. The memory of the similar situation with Molly in the ballet studio was surging into his mind.  

Sherlock chuckled at the back of his throat “Only when others want what I do” he reiterated John’s words back at him, easily following John’s train of thought.

Neither noticed Mary’s gasp of indignation or the disbelieving stares everyone around them gave them as John and Sherlock laughed softly, looking at each other in wonder. Both marvelling and basking in the rush of the growing and blooming first love.

…

John bade Sherlock goodbye in front of his chemistry classroom only squeezing his arm affectionately after having decided that a single public kiss was enough progress the school could take in a single day. Sherlock watched him walk away, feeling a little dizzy with all this..  _sentiment Mycroft would call it._ He shook his head, having heard enough from his brother during the weekend as he had caught Sherlock smiling stupidly into his phone whilst texting John. “ _Caring is not an advantage Sherlock. The mind is all that matters in the end. Matters of the heart are dangerous. I advice to get rid of this…infatuation”_

Sherlock had always had trouble connecting with people growing up. He had slowly learnt to build walls around himself from everyone he met after these always proved to be as idiotic and dull as Mycroft had promised they would be. Molly was an exception to this rule, crush non-withstanding. She had come to care for Sherlock once she had understood his manner of being, and by seeing it develop after they had grown up together.

Sherlock had been almost irritated when Molly’s crush had developed with time, as he did not wish to hurt her feelings but he did not want to pursue a relationship with her either. He could have simply told her he was gay, he knew. But then he’d have to go through hurting and embarrassing her by having to point out the crush and then he wasn’t sure where she stood on homosexual relationships. He doubted she would oppose or feel disgusted by learning his sexual orientation but he didn’t want to put his only friendship at risk by telling her.

 _It’s too late now anyway. She already knows,_ Sherlock thought as he took a seat at the back of the class, where he knew he’d never get picked for participation and could work alone without being bothered by anyone else. Just as he was making a mental note to talk to her and make sure things were still okay between them he caught Mike’s eye and was once again surprised when he waved at him, beaming. Ever since he had shown up after John’s rugby practice Mike had taken a certain liking to him and would always greet him when he bumped into him in school or in class.  Sherlock rose a hand in greeting, still slightly hesitant if Mike was waving at him or someone else. Mike, encouraged, made his way through the desks and closer to Sherlock.

“Hey Sherlock! Can I sit with you?” he looked like he was genuinely asking, not mockingly like Sherlock was used to, and wanting to befriend him so Sherlock, stunned, accepted without knowing what else to do.

Sherlock worried that Mike would start asking questions about his relationship with John or perhaps he didn’t know they were dating and would attempt to talk his captain up, not that he needed to anyway Sherlock was already dazed with how crazy he was rapidly becoming about the rugby player. Mike, however, was comfortable in silence, something Sherlock appreciated. He, at times, made small talk but never seems put off by Sherlock’s quiet and somewhat cold demeanour. They worked quietly side by side and Sherlock smiled, thinking perhaps he could get used to not just being in a relationship and having to open up himself to someone for the first time, but to also getting to know John’s friends.

 

 .....

Meanwhile, John found himself once again in the very same spot where he had been exactly three weeks ago… waiting for Mr.Wiggins approval whilst he waited semi-patiently, shifting in the same spot nervously.

Mr.Wiggins was looking through the not only the 2 pages that John had promised but 6 brand new pages. John hadn’t been able to stop drawing during this Saturday and later Sunday as he texted Sherlock.

The murder mystery Sherlock had investigated throughout that ballet lesson he had missed had finally come to light, and boy was John impressed. Sherlock had decided to title his case “The killer cabbie” as he had related the story to John, but John had adapted it to his own story and drawn it into his comic as “The study in pink”, which incidentally fit nicely as the comic’s main title as well. He had obviously changed some of the facts and the names of the people Sherlock had told him about as not to be disrespectful of the actual case he had solved nor the people involved in it.

The new pages John had drawn started with the man in the comic, which John had started naming ‘John’ after seeing himself in him from the moment Sherlock had pointed out the fact that his work was always a self-portrait. The new pages began with comic-John meeting another man in the park. John had, after some deliberation, decided to draw people in his own life and adapt them into this alternate universe. He had thus decided that the man at the park would be his friend Mike. Comic-Mike then offered to introduce Comic-John to a flatmate. The following page revealed the pale, angular and beautiful body John was starting to know far too well… Sherlock. He had, naturally, aged everyone as he had with himself but Sherlock still kept an air of youth and energy in the comic book pages. And, as in real life he was intriguing, mysterious, dangerous and far too beautiful for his own good.

John had put to use the skills he had learnt throughout his drawing session with Sherlock, finally haven decided that Sherlock simply had eyes that contained every imaginable combination of colours and shadows and stars imaginable. The comic pages held plenty of shots where John had simply drawn close-ups of his eyes and the side of his face and his lips moving as he deduced whatever was around him. John knew of course that he himself could not deduce but he tried his best as he drew the characters to fit the descriptions of how comic-Sherlock described them.

Sherlock had seemed perplexed when John had asked him if he could draw him in the comic but he had consented to be in it anyway.

Pages 4-6 detailed the case of the pink lady, who was the woman who commited suicide in real life. The pages revealed how Sherlock deduced the woman and the meaning of the scratched word RACHE. In real life Sherlock had quickly deduced that the identity of the killer had been a cabbie, someone who the previous murder/suicide cases had trusted and had willingly got into the car with. In the comic, however, John decided to drag on the story a little more and have John come back to life on the “Battlefield” with Sherlock, he still wasn’t sure how or when but he could figure that out later.

Mr.Wiggins placed the pages on his desk carefully and looked at John in silence, his expression changing from calculating to one of pure awe. “Mr.Watson! If I’d known signing up a student into ballet class would’ve done these many wonders I would’ve sent the entire generation!” He beamed at John as his student's shoulders relaxed visibly and he took a grateful breath of air. “These pages are truly fantastic! I would love to see some of you ballet sketches to see how you managed this and your process!”

John staggered, thinking of the many drawings of Sherlock dancing and grinned sheepishly “I…uh...don’t have them with me right now sir… But thank you for the feedback!” he smiled, trying not to look to flushed or guilty  but Mr.Wiggins seemed to take no notice, or if he did he ignored it.

“Not a problem John! Keep the good work! And say hello to Mr.Holmes for me” he shot John a grin, and John instantly knew he knew John was utterly smitten. He groaned internally but couldn’t keep himself from asking “You know Sherlock?”

“Of course I do! Smart boy. But he keeps stealing chemicals that one.”

John laughed, easily picturing Sherlock sneaking into the lab and taking full bottles of acids and god-knows-what-else. “Yeah… that sounds like Sherlock all right”

“Keep an eye out for him will ya?” Mr.Wiggins smirked, reaching back to hand john his art project back. “these truly are fantastic lad.” He nodded again as john thanked him profusely. “Now scamper of Mr.Watson, wouldn’t want our captain to be late for rugby!”

John walked slowly out of his art class, basking in how great everything was turning out for him. His art project was going well, his rugby team was as strong as ever, Mary was no longer a problem and best of all he was dating a gorgeous ballet dancer. He spotted Sherlock walking with mike in the distance and felt an even bigger wave of calm wash over him in knowing his friends were truly on board with his feelings for Sherlock. Really, what could possibly go wrong right now?

……….later in ballet class……….

 

When John walked into ballet class Sherlock was already mid-dance and Molly was stretching at the other side of the room, pointedly avoiding looking or even standing near him. John felt an instant pang of guilt and resolved to talk to Molly today about their little….situation. He didn’t really know Molly that well but she most definitely did not deserve to be isolated and uncomfortable in Sherlock’s or John’s presence; especially after she had been nothing but lovely towards him. This added to the fact that John could tell that even without her crush she was still incredibly fond of Sherlock and he did not want him to lose any friends, considering how he did not seem to have many.

Sherlock was doing fast and calculated spins in the same spot, raising himself with one foot and boosting himself with another, shifting his arms and turning his head accordingly. He caught sight of John as he walked in and stopped his turning, panting and grinning slightly too brightly at the blonde until he caught himself and turned down the enthusiasm, the light still shining in his clear eyes nevertheless. 

John’s inner battle to kiss or not to kiss Sherlock hello was interrupted by Mrs.Hudson walking into the room right behind him. “Excuse me dear” she said politely, shoving lightly at John’s waist.

“Oh. Sorry sorry Mrs.Hudson” he tore his eyes away from Sherlock with huge effort on his part and moved aside, walking to his usual spot on the ground in front of the chairs rapidly to avoid any further embarrassment on his part. He could hear Sherlock chuckling as he went to sit down. He clearly knew the effect his very presence had on John.

“Sherlock dear” Mrs.Hudson called at him “I assume you’re planning on auditioning tomorrow for the part of Romeo am I correct?”

“Of course Mrs.Hudson” Sherlock nodded.

“Well then you should hurry and write your name on the list, I’m afraid they won’t let you audition if you haven’t signed up dear, and you know many agents will be there watching” she tutted at him

Sherlock’s eyes widened “Oh. I better go then” he shot a glance at John, silently saying ‘I’ll be back soon’ to which John nodded, winking. Sherlock blushed instantly as a reflex, and John’s grin widened. Sherlock rolled his eyes as, after a moment’s hesitation, winked back before leaving through the door with a playful smirk.

John was fending of a blush himself when he caught Mrs.Hudson looking at him fondly, she didn’t say anything, no yet anyway; John expected a talk from her soon enough, but she smiled as if proud that they had found each other. John smiled back at her but caught sight of Molly staring at him for a second before she hastily looked away. She hadn’t exactly looked angry, or upset, or anything really. She had just seemed... calculating.

Sherlock was gone and John knew an opportunity when he saw one so he stood up and went over to where Molly was stretching on the floor, pointedly avoiding looking back at him as he approached.

Mrs.Hudson, who could clearly see a moment of needed privacy promptly cleared her throat and offered them coffee and biscuits “Just this once dears, I’m a teacher not your maid”. Both teenagers just laughed and thanked her, Molly went back to looking at the ground and not John.

“Hey” John said softly, feeling utterly uncomfortable but knowing that this was the right thing to do, besides when was he going to get another perfect opportunity like this one? Molly still didn’t turn around but after a couple of seconds she sighed and breathed out a “Hey…” in response. She sounded resigned but just as polite as she ever was.

John sat down on the floor next to her. “Look Molly I’m-”

“John” she stopped him softly, raising her head to look at him calmly “It’s okay”

“What?”

“It’s okay you’re with Sherlock”

“Wait-really?I thought you hated me… I know you really liked Sherlock.. I’m sorry this entire thing happened. That was not the way I wanted you to find out at all and I-”

Molly laughed softly, interrupting his babble “I mean it John” she smiled at him calmly, “It’s not your fault Sherlock’s gay and I have a terribly slow gay-dar. I don’t want it to ruin my friendship with neither Sherlock nor you.” She straightened up and curled her legs under herself before turning her body towards the blonde's and continuing “Besides, I did like him but just because he ended up with someone else it doesn’t mean I’m gonna swoon in despair. I’m perfectly happy and capable of being on my own” her eyes were glinting with honesty and John exhaled in relief.

“I’m glad Molly. I don’t want to lose your friendship either” he beamed at her “And when you do find someone you deserve for them to be the chaser, not the chasee. Someone.. well straight” they both giggled “Someone kind and sweet like you” he placed a hand on her small shoulder. The atmosphere no longer felt tense around them and they both visibly relaxed next to each other. _Someone kind and sweet…._ “Molly!” John suddenly sprung to his feet

Molly jumped, startled by the suddenness of the movement. “What? What is it?” her eyes widened

John turned to her, grinning from ear to ear in complete glee, his eyes were glinting mischievously “So…Molly. I’d like to play a little game I like to call, ‘Haaaaaave you met my friend Mike’?”


	10. Auditions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ballet auditions for Romeo and Juliet have arrived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a little behind schedule for writing so updates might be in 3 days not 2 from now on. Sorryy- I should have been in chapter 17 but im barely finishing 14. Also... the rating WILL change *hides face behind hands*  
> Once again- thanks so much for reading, commenting and leaving kudos <3<3  
> Next update will be on Thursday night or Friday morning :)

****

“Hey John…. I-I change my mind. I’m not sure meeting girls is really for me right now” Mike squeaked. It was the Tuesday of Sherlock’s ballet auditions for Romeo and Juliet, right after rugby practice and John and Mike were changing out of their rugby clothes in the locker rooms, the rest of the team either surrounding them or in the showers, all absorbed in getting the cold wet clothes off them as soon as possible.

John raised an eyebrow amused “Oh?”

Mike rolled his eyes “Not that! You know what I mean… I don’t think she’d like me very much”

“Nonsense! You guys are perfect for each other! Just come over to the auditions and I’ll introduce you”

Mike snorted a bit and sighed in surrender and knelt back down to take off his mud stained rugby trainers. The rain really was becoming a bit of a problem for running. The players had a hard time seeing what was going on in the field around them and after practices they all ended up soaked and frustrated.

John shook the water out of his hair and hoped to god that mike and molly took a liking for each other. Mike had never had a girlfriend, he was far too shy to talk to girls in the first place, but he was a really nice guy. Just the kind of guy a sweet, kind girl like Molly deserved.

He had told Molly about Mike yesterday during ballet class and Molly had, although looked sceptical and hesitant at first, had warmed to the idea of meeting him and had agreed to do so during her time off in the auditions. All normal ballet classes were cancelled and the auditions took about 3 hours so most of the time the dancers wanting to participate had lots of time to hang around worrying or doing some last minute practice around the main stage where the judges would evaluate their dancing.

After they finished changing into their normal clothes they went down to the ballet studios together; Mike shielding himself with his rugby jersey and John with his hoodie.

….

“When are you on?” John asked the fidgeting, restless Sherlock.

“In half an hour. Approximately judging by the number of people called and the mean time their music has taken. I can’t focus. I can’t practice. There’s no time. I should’ve practiced more yesterday. Damn Mrs.Hudson and her biscuits.” Sherlock babbled.

Sherlock never babbled. That John knew for sure even if they’d only met almost a month ago.  He looked at Sherlock worriedly as the dancer paced around, his eyes shifting from place to place, never settling. His footsteps were regular, a never changing tip tap in circles around John.

They were backstage from the main stage where Sherlock would be called by one of the judges reading from the list of names of the dancers that had signed up for the part of Romeo. The main stage was located in the  third floor of the building up the massive glass staircase John had been struck by the first time he had walked into the building. The past hour and a half had been spent with Sherlock doing side planks, stretches and chin ups with one of the wooden bars from the ceiling, until the latter made a suspicious crack and Sherlock had stopped abruptly. That was when he had started with the pacing.

“You set Molly up” Sherlock stated suddenly, not stopping the pacing around John. Tip tap tip tap.

“With Mike? Yeah. I think she liked him”

“Yes, she did.” Tip tap tip tap  “He liked her too.” Tip tap tip tap “I’m glad” Tip tap tip tap

John grinned, “Really? Thank goodness.” John stared at Sherlock for a couple for cycled around him. Tip tap tip tap. “Hey Sherlock?”

Tip. “Yeah?” he stopped.

“Come here” John looked up at him from where he was sitting on the ground and opened his arms for Sherlock.

“I’m fine John” Sherlock huffed, but lowered himself to his knees anyway and slid his body into John’s embrace. John’s arms encircled Sherlock’s waist, trapping him in place. John was easily a full head shorter than Sherlock when standing but in this particular position they were practically the same height so he tipped his chin slightly up and captured Sherlock’s lips with his own.

He could feel Sherlock’s heart thudding against his chest, whether it was from the nerves of the auditions or John wasn’t clear but John liked to think it was the latter.

Sherlock sighed into the kiss; the building tension of nerves dissolving into the warmth of John’s body against his. Sherlock threw his arms around John’s neck and tilted his head to deepen their kiss. His hands found their way to John’s hair and tugged slightly, gaining a gasp from the blonde.

 _I should’ve thought of this to distract him hours ago. Would’ve saved myself some neck pain from turning around so often as he waked around me_ thought John

Feeling bold, John bit lightly at Sherlock’s lower lip. Sherlock hummed in approval and licked his way into the inside of John’s warm wet mouth. Their tongues found each other for the first time and they stroked each other teasingly. John stroked circles with his thumbs at Sherlock’s hips, soothing.

After several moments of this they separated a couple of inches with a soft wet sound. Sherlock had a glazed far away look in his eyes. “Feeling better?” John asked softly

Sherlock smirked and licked his lips “You should’ve done that hours ago. We have been wasting all this time”

“Well then we shouldn’t waste any more of it”

“Quite right” Sherlock’s lips brushed against John’s with every murmured word, his breath caressing John’s cheeks delicately. He plunged his tongue into John’s warm, wet mouth and pressed himself more tightly against him as they slid their lips against each other’s.

John held Sherlock’s warming face with his right hand, his left stroking Sherlock’s back slowly, moving a further south with every motion until it was softly cupping the swell of Sherlock’s arse. Sherlock, encouraged by John’s movements moved his hands to John’s chest, caressing it up and down and feeling the loud battering of his heart against his fingertips.

Far too soon, Sherlock’s name was called from one of the judges microphones and Sherlock had to physically tear himself away from the warmth of John, looking significantly less nervous than he had been before but also significantly more reluctant to leave the safe darkness of the backstage area. He looked back at John dazedly, his lips glistening and kissed-red and walked to the direction of the stage.

John stood up with him and followed until Sherlock went into the centre of the stage before the judges and he stayed in the shadow of the left wing, watching him with a smile on his lips.

Soon enough the music for what John supposed was a scene where the character of Romeo had a solo began, John leaned against one of the wooden pillars surrounding the wings.

The music was gentle, like Sherlock’s movements. There weren’t many high leaps for this particular song, as it was mostly footwork and a various series of arabesque positions and agile arm movement. The songs started off with pizzicato violins, the plucking of the strings creating a delicate ambiance around Sherlock’s dance.

“He’s amazing isn’t he?” a high voice said behind John.

The blonde turned, the voice’s words were kind enough but their slurred quality and the high sing song of the pitch made the hairs on his neck prickle with tension.

Jim Moriarty stood behind John, staring intently at Sherlock’s dance, his lips curled up in a fake forced smile. His eyes were glinting with something John couldn’t quite place. All in all he seemed harmless, he was a couple of inches shorter than John and his hair was slicked back with a copious, almost exaggerated amount of hair gel. He didn’t look like much of a threat and yet John felt wary, at attention when spoken to by this boy.

“Yeah, he really is amazing” he answered, his voice had a dry, forced quality but Jim took no notice.

“You must be Johnny boy. The boyfriend. I’ve heard aaaall about you” his smile widened.

“I’m John. Just John. And who told you about me? Sherlock said you guys aren’t friends” John knew he was being rude but he didn’t like the way this kid was looking at Sherlock, licking his lips as if waiting for a meal. He narrowed his eyes in distaste as Jim’s grin widened.

“Mmmm nooo. But we could be. Or could be a little more than that. Just look at him. I could just eat him up in those tights couldn’t you?” he was staring at Sherlock a little too strongly.

“Don’t talk about his like that” John hissed darkly. He didn’t like this kid one bit, no matter how harmless he looked he was fully ready to break this guys’ nose if he uttered another sleazy word about Sherlock to him. Not that Sherlock would ever go for some guy like this one but still, he didn’t like the way he looked at him, or talked about him. Like he was a _thing_ just to be used and gawked at.

Moriarty just flicked his eyes to John for a second, feeling the intensity of his glare on his neck. “Oh have I said too much?” he said, slurring every word and then started laughing, this horrible sickening yapping laughter before he turned back to Sherlock unperturbed by John’s sizzling anger. 

...

The music around him was gaining momentum; the dance itself was very short so Sherlock only had to dance for a couple of minutes. But as he was preparing for one of the final spins he turned his head and saw John talking to Jim Moriarty, the second was laughing in an eerily high pitch and watching Sherlock with hunger. Sherlock felt dread settle in his veins as he saw John glaring at him, but with a glint of fear glimmering in the back of his eyes. _If he so much as even touches John_ Sherlock thought, panicking.

He could easily picture a thousand of scenarios playing out, John snapping and breaking Jim’s nose, Jim wouldn’t let him get away with that. John could get into serious trouble just looking at him wrong. The second was that Jim himself harmed John, now Sherlock wouldn’t let him get away with that one. The thought of Jim turning those black hollow eyes to john instead of him, however, made Sherlock feel sick with repulsion. He would rather Jim have a sick obsession with him than he touch a hair on john’s head.

He suddenly lost his complete focus on the dance and as he was balancing his weight with his right foot, he caught Moriarty’s eye and felt a cold feeling wash over him. He felt his right ankle give and his whole body dragged down until it hit the floor with a loud thud, his face instantly colouring in shame and anger towards him. He had caught himself with his hands in time not to harm his back or head but his ankle would be bruised and perhaps even swollen for days. Sherlock tried to ignore the gasps that had come out of the judges mouths, echoing through the stage by their microphones. The music was still resounding above him and he tried desperately to find in his head the end of the choreography.

John’s eyes widened in panic as he watched Sherlock pick himself up carefully, wincing with pain. He had to resist both the urge of bolting and running to Sherlock’s side to make sure he was alright and the urge to strangle the boy standing next to him.

Sherlock finished the dance, grimacing in pain and pointedly avoiding looking in Moriarty’s direction, and therefore John’s too. He could, nonetheless, see Moriarty’s gleeful and twisted smirk at Sherlock’s obvious embarrassment. He couldn’t remember the last time he had fallen whilst dancing, having learnt how to balance himself perfectly years ago. But that look in Moriarty’s eye, so dark and macabre, had just snapped Sherlock’s insides and for a moment they’d inexplicably felt like lava, spilling and burning with panic and horror.

Once the song finished, Sherlock bowed hastily towards the judges, avoiding looking at them in the eye and opting instead to look at his slippers and the stage ground surrounding them, and when he did look at them he was glad he couldn’t even see their faces through the blinding contrast of the darkness of the stage hall and the white and yellow lights that lit the stage. John’s and the judges claps seemed muted and far away before he stormed off the stage from the opposite wing from where he’d seen Moriarty and John.

 He couldn’t see Moriarty next to John anymore but he’d rather not be spoken to right now. He couldn’t face the fact that his fall had most likely made up the judges minds about him and now there was absolutely no chance of him getting the part and he had completely embarrassed himself in front of Moriarty, the judges and most importantly, John.


	11. In the rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Im sorry this is half a day late!! Next update will be in 3 days so Monday :)  
> Thank you so much for reading!! Please leave comments and kudos if you liked it <3<3

John couldn’t find Sherlock anywhere. He had seen him walk off the stage in the opposite direction of him and he honestly couldn’t really blame him. Moriarty, after Sherlock’s fall, had only tutted at Sherlock and uttered a slurred “Shame isn’t it?”  in a fake regretful voice before leaving the backstage area towards the exit.

John had been furious but hadn’t wanted to cause any further disturbance for Sherlock so he had suppressed the urge to strangle the boy, balling his hands into fists and glaring after him.

After Sherlock had left, however, John had supposed he would wait for him at the entrance, or studio 129 or perhaps  outside the building but everywhere John looked, there was no tall, dark haired dancer in sight.

He hunched his shoulders, realizing Sherlock had left without him and feeling significantly less happy than he had moments before Sherlock’s audition he grabbed his umbrella from where he had left it at studio 129 and went out of the building, heading home.

But then in the distance, behind the screen of rain he spotted the familiar shape of Sherlock and the bright red glow of his own sweater wrapped around him. He sped up his pace until he was running but being careful not to slip on the wet concrete and caught up with Sherlock, it wasn’t too difficult despite the distance as Sherlock was limping and trying not to put too much pressure on his right foot.

When he caught up with him the dancer didn’t acknowledge his newly arrived presence, just kept staring in front of his, unseeing and frowning. His face was completely pale and his curls were dripping down water to his forehead, running down over his pointed cheeks and some getting caught in his pouting pink mouth.

“Sherlock?” John asked uncertainly “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine” Sherlock snapped, and tried to hurry his pace but stumbled a bit. John caught him before he feel again by the hips and looked at him in concern, his deep blue eyes wide and anxious. “Let go of me John” Sherlock said, his voice had softened but it was still dry and impersonal.

Startled by Sherlock’s detachment John recoiled and let go of him quickly, his hands instantly missing the warmth of Sherlock’s body and falling limply to his sides. Sherlock winced at the missing support and stumbled again, only slightly this time. John grimaced with him, suppressing the urge to balance him again.

Sherlock turned to him, his expression pained “I just… I want to be left alone”

“But-”

“Please” he didn’t wait for John to answer and just kept limping away, struggling with every step.

 

John resisted the urge to go help him walk, support him by the waist or just grab him and carry him to wherever he needed to go. But he knew Sherlock would not appreciate it. John stood there in the rain, umbrella tilted to one side so the rain hit him anyway but he took no notice, staring after Sherlock’s retreating figure in the dim mist of the afternoon.

The blonde went home, feeling deflated and exhausted. He should’ve punched that Jim kid before he’d distracted Sherlock. Or maybe if John had kept his mouth shut the kid wouldn’t’ve laughed, distracting the dancer, and nothing would’ve happened. He really needed to work on his temper...and self-control now that he was at it.

He took out his sketchbook where he was starting out a new comic page. After he had explained the whole case with the Lady in Pink he had decided to add a scene where Sherlock went after the cabbie himself. It, of course, hadn0t happened in real life. Sherlock had told John that he did attempt to go after the murderer himself but had been dragged back to Scotland yard by his brother when the latter discovered what he was up to. Sherlock was, after all 17, and even though his brother cut him some slack by letting him solve some of the dangerous cases he was still protective over his little brother. “ _He actually calls me that… ‘Brother dear’ ‘Baby brother’. It’s very annoying-SH”_ Sherlock had said during their texting conversation on Sunday. They had let, however, Sherlock be present when they caught the ‘killer cabbie’ and had let him stay for the interrogation.

John was secretly glad that this Mycroft guy was looking after Sherlock, especially when he couldn’t look after him himself. _Apparently I can’t even do that while he’s 10 feet away from me._ John shook himself out of his frustration and lay down flat on his stomach on his single bed, sketching out the base figures for the new page. Here, Sherlock succeeded in going after the cabbie himself.  More accurately, the cabbie found Sherlock himself and asked him to climb up on the taxi with him, to which Sherlock agreed. _I don’t even doubt that’s exactly what he would do_ John gave a weak smile, hoping Sherlock was feeling better wherever he was.

He sunk himself into the story, how Sherlock would react to the cabbies plan (Sherlock had told John how the murderer forced his victims to choose between two identical pills, one that would kill you and one that wouldn’t), he pictured how Sherlock would scoff at the cabbie’s logic game but inside he’d be intrigued by the chance he was playing and how he could prove himself cleverer than anyone else once and for all.

John drew Sherlock’s face, here aged with years of experience and knowledge. He drew the straight line of his nose that had the slightest curve upwards towards the end. He drew the soft shadow under the cheekbone and the wilderness of Sherlock’s dark springing curls. He drew him picking a pill and bringing it to his lips, the pink of their colour tempting and luscious.

He figured his comic had to end somewhere close to this point. But he wasn’t sure quite how to. He knew he had to somehow stop comic-Sherlock from swallowing the pill but he wasn’t sure how he would manage that. And after the end Sherlock would have saved comic-John from his depression but what then? What happened with them? It felt like they needed something more. More adventures, more action. He resolved to finish it some other time and turned on his back, suddenly feeling his back muscles untangle from the stiff and not-so-good position he had kept them I whilst lying on his stomach. He stretched out, arching his back and sighing in pleasure as the knots uncoiled.

John stared at the ceiling for a moment. Hoping he and Sherlock were okay and this was just a minor hitch in their almost-sort-of-relationship. _No more denying anything. Tomorrow I’ll ask him if he wants to make our relationship official. And if he says yes then...I’ll tell my friends myself._ He could picture the cheers and grins already.

For the first time since the audition, John let the thought of Jim Moriarty’s shrilling laughter and murky shallow eyes leave his muddled thoughts and he closed his eye, letting sleep take over his mind.

.....The next day….

“WATSON!” John heard his coaches voice call after him as he was leaving his biology lesson, last class of the day, in which he now sat next to Janine’s last lab partner, Michael instead of Mary. She had changed spots the lesson after she had witnessed Sherlock and John share a kiss at the doorway, moving next to Janine without a word. Not that John minded very much, granted. She had probably only shown interest in him to make her last boyfriend, David, jealous.

John had been surprised the news of him kissing a guy hadn’t spread very far as his friends hadn’t come teasing him and he hadn’t noticed any change in behaviour towards him aside from Mary. But then again very few people saw them, and the ones that did were the quiet kids from the biology classroom that took their time getting out of class and had no rush to leave as soon as it ended.

“Yes coach?” John turned to look up at his coach, questioningly.

“Reschedule practice for an hour earlier today, tell the team. This rain really is ruining practices and since it probably won’t start until later better practice now” he barked out. Coach Moran, a very large and butch man, had never been good with requests or kind words. He left most of the work of actual coaching to John during practices and went to get himself snacks at the cafeteria. He was very tall and had a small but wild and shabby amount of greying blonde hair.

“Oh no coach I can’t do anything right now. I have to…uhh...”

“What Watson? Is there something more important on your mind than the team? You’re the captain! If you don’t take your position seriously I will be forced to reconsider and move you to vice. Or better yet take you off the team completely! You haven’t been on this team long enough. _Everyone_ is replaceable!”  he barked, spit flying everywhere with every hissed word and several fat drops hitting John in the face.

“Er... uhh…got it. Okay. I’ll tell the team, sir.” John stammered, wincing as he felt the spattering of saliva on his cheeks. He had never really gotten used to the coach and his tendency to spit when he yelled or his unpredictable boiling temper. He couldn’t just tell him he had ballet practice or he would be either laughed at or kicked out on the spot.

“Good.” He paused, staring at John and frowning, his bushy black eyebrows almost touching  “What are you waiting for Waston? MOVE IT!”

John whirled around and scattered away, narrowly avoiding a fresh new wave of spit dropplets in search for the rest of his team. _Looks like I won’t be able to see Sherlock today and make sure we’re okay after all._ He felt deflated all of a sudden, remembering vividly how sad and lonely Sherlock had looked the day before when he’d asked John to leave him alone. _I should’ve gone after him. I shouldn’t’ have left him all alone and depressed in the rain, he needed support._ John hadn’t seen Sherlock all day, he hadn’t been waiting for him outside his biology classroom like last time and John still wasn’t sure what classes he took or where he ate lunch as he never saw him in the cafeteria when he was hanging with his friends at lunch time.

Should he text Sherlock so he’d know John wasn’t going to make it to practice today or did Sherlock still need some space and John texting would just drive him further away? John made up his mind that he wanted things to be okay between them and maybe the best way to achieve that would be by acting completely normally. Besides he didn’t want Sherlock to think that John was rethinking their situation and was now avoiding him by not going to class. They had yet to go to their promised date and John would not screw things up this soon in the relationship.

He took out his phone from his back pocket and found his conversation with Sherlock, smiling as he remembered their weekend-long conversation.

 

_[John] sent 3:02 PM_

_Hey Sherlock, rugby was rescheduled. I won’t be able to make it to ballet practice today. Is your ankle better today?_

John wished he could sound less detached in his text. Written text was definitely not a reliable way by which he could convey his preoccupation over Sherlock or his need to see him again. He cursed the damn weather for being utterly atrocious and ruining his chance to see Sherlock today and calming himself down he opened a new for Greg.

 

_[John] sent 3:03 PM_

_Greg, coach says rugby practice is rescheduled for now. Tell the others if you see them in case they don’t check their phones._

John started sending all his team texts and headed off for the locker room. Hewas welcomed by the familiar stench of dirty socks and underwear and he sat to check if Sherlock had answered his text, he had a few new texts but seeing they were all from his team he sighed and locked his phone and started taking off his shoes and clothes to change for the impending practice.

 

...

“Better weather?? The coach said if we started practicing earlier we’d have BETTER weather!?” Greg roared over the gargantuan amount of rain and the thunder resounding in their ears.

 

John had started off the practice in a foul mood which had not improved when the clouds had unzipped themselves, letting all their contents fall to the ground and soaking them to the bone in the first five minutes of practice. Now, however, John looked up at the falling rain and thought about how ridiculous they all must look, running in the rain unseeingly and screaming in each other’s general direction. John shook his head, looked towards Greg who’s hair was so flat in his face his eyes weren’t visible anymore and started to laugh. They really couldn’t see anything but…did it really matter in the end? He could be a lot worse than playing a sport he loved with people he loved.

 

Greg brushed the hair from his forehead and stared at him, confused for a moment before he snorted and joined him, guffawing with the entire ridiculousness of the weather and the utmost seriousness they had held for the past half hour when truly there was nothing they could do and they kept slipping all over the place. The rain was not showing any signs of stopping and the running had warmed their bodies so the rain didn’t feel frigid nor uncomfortable. It felt as if they were all enveloped in a cool fresh blanket on a summer morning.

 

“Come on guys we got this! Screw practice drills! Let’s just play!” John shouted, grinning maniacally over the rain. He ran to the far side of the field and kicked the ball, starting off an astoundingly confusing round of rugby as no one could quite see properly in the rain. The split into teams and for the first time in months they just played for the sake of playing and enjoying themselves. They had light hearted fights when they cheated or ‘accidentally’ pushed each other into the mud  and counterattacked by doing the same themselves. By the end of the hour they were all muddy, had every garment of clothing dripping with rain water and were grinning madly at each other, laughing and bantering about nothing in particular.

 

They went off to the locker room to change but John told them he’d catch up with them later, he took off his shirt as the wet cloth sticking to his skin was becoming uncomfortable and went to gather the rugby balls that they had left behind, stashing them in a bag to be taken to Coach Moran’s office later. The rain had slowed into a drizzle and it padded softly on John’s back as he bent to pick up the balls. _So much for an hour ‘till it rains eh coach?_ He laughed softly to himself, feeling for once like everything was going to be alright. He’d talk to Sherlock and make sure he was okay.  

 

After he’d dropped off the sack containing the equipment to the coach’s office John finally set off in the way of the locker rooms, eager to take off his sodden clothes at last. The fresh feeling he’d had had only lasted whilst he was warm and exercising and now he found himself utterly uncomfortable from the clinging clothes and the mud on his trainers sloshing  into his socks with every step he took.

 

He was just arriving to the locker rooms through one of the schools many hallways when he heard a thump followed by a crunch and a gasp of pain “WHAT DID YOU SAY TO ME?” it was Anderson’s voice. John would recognize that nasal voice anywhere. And it looked like he was beating someone up again. John sped his pace towards the voices, uneager to participate in a fight that had nothing to do with him but not wanting to leave anyone alone with Anderson and his troop to fend for themselves.

“I said you shouldn’t talk out loud. You lower the IQ of the whole school” a weak voice responded, struggling. John would recognize that deep rumble of a voice anywhere _Oh no Sherlock… what on earth have you done now?_

John began sprinting, not liking the thumping sounds that followed Sherlock’s statement nor the cries of pain he could hear following them.

Just as he turned the corner he was just in time to see Sherlock’s cornered. They were three against one; Anderson and his friends Ryan and Gary. Sherlock, although completely outnumbered turned around and with a surprising amount of force he drew his arm back and punched Anderson on the nose, a searing crunch resounding in the darkened hallway. Ryan and Gary both tackled Sherlock and held him tightly, Anderson straightening up, grimacing, his face twisting with rage and his nose overflowing with blood. “You’re gonna pay for that you fucking freak!”

“OI” John roared “What the HELL is going on here?!”

 

All four of them snapped their heads towards the approaching captain, Sherlock’s eyes softened in surprise and relief at seeing him.

 

“We’re beating the shit out of your bloody girlfriend what does it look like?” Anderson sneered, teeth showing. The blood was running down chin and over his teeth, tainting them. It looked sick and gruesome.

 

John stepped in front of Sherlock and pushed Anderson roughly “Don’t talk about him like that.” He hissed, his voice was low and dangerous.

 

“What’re you gonna do about it lover boy huh?” Anderson spit, spattering John’s face with his blood, to which Ryan and Gary laughed stupidly.

 

John’s eyes narrowed, the intensity of his glare managing to dim Anderson’s sneer, he now looked afraid. Anderson growled and punched John in the stomach, John huffed slightly but steeled himself and lashed out with his right hook, throwing Anderson to the ground. Gary and Ryan let go of Sherlock and turned to John, frowning. “You shouldn’t’ve done that” Ryan hissed and launched himself at John’s throat.

 

John grabbed Ryan’s arm, twisted and then clung his foot behind one of his legs and pulled it towards him, causing Ryan to fall to the ground on his arse and hit his head against the wall behind him. Then John turned to Gary, who had the decency to look stunned, his face red and angry and punched him square on his right eye, and pushed him  back, his head thumping harshly on the wall and falling on top of Ryan, who hissed in pain. As Gary fell, however, he was able to claw at John’s face, scratching his shoulder deeply in the process. John hissed in pain, pressing a hand to it and seeing it was slightly bleeding.  

 

“You broke my bloody arm” Ryan screeched

“I sprained it” John muttered

“You blinded me!” Gary groaned

“No I didn’t. It’ll just be purple for a week”

Anderson was standing again so John wedged his knee on his groin and punched him properly on the stomach, draining out his air. Anderson fell to the floor with a huff.

 

John stopped short, afraid to turn around…afraid that Sherlock was now frightened of him. He’d really gone at these guys. None of them had anything broken but they were quite a sight. Anderson with a broken nose (although that had been Sherlock’s doing not John’s) groaning on the ground holding himself in between the legs, Gary holding his eye and hissing with pain and Ryan breathing harshly and clinging to his sprained arm panicking.

 

Anderson struggled to his feet and started to run away, his friends turned to look at each other wide eyes and struggled to their feet, following Anderson’s lead and running from John, grumbling curses under  their breath.

 

Finally the blonde steeled himself and turned to see to Sherlock and make sure he was alright. Sherlock was staring at John. Not in fear, or disappointment or horror or panic. He was staring at John as if John was the sun itself, bright and shining. Sherlock was wide eyed with awe and admiration. His eyes were slightly watered, though John suspected that that was due to Anderson’s bad right hook that had failed to crunch Sherlock’s nose (thank goodness) but _had_ bruised him a bit. “John” Sherlock gasped, his voice soft and admiring.

 

 

John, relieved, hurried to Sherlock and crouched down by his side. “Sherlock, are you alright?” he supped his face in his hands delicately turning him to inspect it closely. The dancer’s face was bruising slightly around one of his eyes and his nose. His lower lip was split in the corner but other than there was no large amounts of damage on his face. “Where else did they hurt you?” John demanded, his voice was still angry, not at Sherlock of course.

 

“Just here” Sherlock struggled to raise his shirt a little, wincing with pain. There were knuckle shaped bruises in Sherlock’s stomach and ribs. John hissed in sympathy and anger. He caressed his left thumb lightly on the bruises, still holding Sherlock’s head up with his right. Sherlock placed his own hand on John’s lower chest, which John now found was still bare. He had completely forgotten his shirt, maybe dropped it in the haste of panic at seeing Sherlock being beaten up by those three guys.

 

They met each other’s eyes their eyes yearning and gentle. “Oh love, are you alright?” John asked softly. His heart thumped loudly as the endearment slipped from his lips without his permission.

 

“I’m…i’m alright.” Sherlock smiled tenderly, affectionately. He seemed unfazed by John’s words and looked into John’s deep, concerned eyes “and I’m sorry for leaving like that yesterday”

“It’s okay. I’m sorry about the whole Jim thing.”

Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment and shook his head, moving his left hand to cup over John’s on his left cheek “not your fault.”

 John smiled, “come on” he stood up carefully and offered Sherlock his hand. Sherlock took the offered hand and pushed himself up, hissing slightly.

 

John strung an arm around Sherlock’s waist and helped him walk. Sherlock’s ankle was evidently still hurt from yesterday’s fall.

“What were you doing here anyway?” John asked

“I got your text. I came to see you and to apologize for yesterday when those three bigots cornered me.”

“Why?”

“Anderson has always hated me. Calls me freak all the time. Well him… his girlfriend, his lover, his friends….the friends of their friends…but mostly him. He came and started calling me a fag and a poof and said you would stop talking to me as soon as you figured out I am a…a freak.” Sherlock stopped walking, and looked down at his feet. His shoulders were shaking slightly, repressing some emotion from himself and from John.

 

John, still shocked by the utter idiocy of Anderson’s words turned his body and enveloped his other hand around Sherlock’s waist, embracing his Sherlock tightly. “You don’t believe that do you?” he asked Sherlock softly

“I don’t know what to believe” Sherlock sniffled a bit, hiding his face on John’s neck, he was trembling a bit more violently “all my life no one has ever just…accepted me for who I am. Not entirely. And you claim to do so…to… like me…”

“I do like you Sherlock. So much… you have no idea. You’re brilliant, amazing, extraordinary, talented. I couldn’t possibly stop talking to you. I…I…” he couldn’t bring himself to say it. It was too soon. Sherlock was too vulnerable right now and everything felt so enhanced. He should wait. This was no meaningless fling, this was real.

“Sherlock?”

 

Sherlock looked up at the blonde, he had stopped shaking but his eyes were glinting and surrounded by a faint halo of pink. They looked bluer and brighter than John had ever seen them, the green hiding in the deepness, the silver glimmering in the corners, the yellow speckles fusing in the blue.

 

“Will you be my boyfriend?” John murmured, unable to keep those simple yet charged words to himself any longer.

Sherlock smiled, his eyes filling with so many emotions John couldn’t see where to begin to read them. He was huffing a bit with weak laughter

“So we passed on from dating to being in an official relationship without even going on one single date?”

John hadn’t really thought of it that way “….yes. It looks like it.” he chuckled.

“Hmmm…Good. I like that. Dating sounds tedious.” Sherlock smirked, returning to his normal, confident self and winding his arms around John’s neck, looking down at him fondly. 

John just laughed “So is that a yes?”

Sherlock licked his lips, looking nervous and avoiding the split corner carefully “Yes”, and he dug his hand into John’s hair and pulled him up for a kiss, relief and joy unfurling in John’s belly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate hurting my Sherlock more :( But at least John got to kick some ass this time.


	12. Like one of your french girls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the lovely comments i've received :) They make me so happy you have no idea  
> Thank you soo much for reading, leaving kudos and commenting <3<3<3  
> Next update:Thursday :)

They stayed in the same spot embracing for what seemed like lifetimes until John started shivering slightly from the frigid air hitting his still-bare back. Sherlock stroked his hands up and down John’s bare chest in an attempt to warm him but eventually they had to separate so John could go change into his normal clothing and take off the sodden short and mud caked trainers.

“I should probably-“ John signalled to his shirtless chest with a waving hand, Sherlock stared at it for a moment longer than was really needed but he then cleared his throat and nodded, looking away and at the ground and letting go of John.

 

John beamed and grasped Sherlock’s left hand with his right gently lacing their fingers together. “Come with me?”  
Sherlock nodded, still remaining quiet for a moment before turning to look at his slender pale hand interlaces with John’s tan and strong one. “You… wouldn’t mind if you’re friends see me with you?” Sherlock asked

“Of course not. I want them to. They’ll tease me for the rest of the century but I want them to meet you and to know we’re together”

Sherlock nodded, and followed John towards the locker room, quickly ducking down to pick up John’s abandoned wet t-shit as they saw it on the ground. Sherlock winced as he limped alongside John, holding his free hand against his bruised ribs and grimacing.

 

John shot him concerned glances “Do you have to be home now?”

“No I don’t have to be home anytime soon, I’m rarely home early anyway. Why?”

“Nothing I’d just like to patch you up a bit. I have a proper first aid kit in my apartment”

“Oh…umm yeah. Okay”

 

Sherlock was worried about meeting all of John’s friends for the first time properly as the only one he’d ever really talked to was Mike but once they arrived to the locker room Sherlock’s worry proved to be completely unnecessary as the entire team had already left and he and John remained alone. The captain showered and changed back into his normal, and thankfully dry, clothes.

 

Whilst his new boyfriend was in one of the showers Sherlock waited sitting in one of the benches, completely overwhelmed and cringed about the foul stench of sweat surrounding him. He was about to make up his mind about waiting for John here and just wait for him outside when he spotted John’s black school bad peeking of from below the bench.

 

He leaned closer to where the showers were located and hearing both the steady rushing of the water and John humming some sort of tune he vaguely recognized Sherlock unzipped the bag and took out John’s comic to inspect it. He knew that the comic was starring a retired army man in which John saw himself. But what he did not expect was to turn the pages and see himself drawn the was he was in the comic. John had asked him if he could be in the story and he had accepted but the was he was portrayed was… tall and elegant and basically everything Sherlock did not consider himself to be.

 

 He saw the “killer cabbie” case portrayed throughout the pages and although he could spot many continuation errors by John’s retelling and own interpretations of the story he figured he should point it out to his new boyfriend. Boyfriend.... _Boyfriend. John is my boyfriend. We’re going out. As boyfriends. I’m John’s boyfriend. We’re boyfriends._ Sherlock tested out every possible combination of the term and it still felt unbelievably surreal. A good kind of surreal.  

 

Sherlock kept flicking through the comic, and came to the realization that although this comic had John as the main character looking for adventure comic-Sherlock himself seemed like the focal point, the hero of the story. He frowned slightly. He didn’t want John to think of him that highly… especially when he was sure to disappoint him. People didn’t simply _like_ Sherlock. They never had. He was rude, and arrogant and he admitted so. But it was more than that. John knew that he conducted experiments and that he solved crimes but the thought of something is different than the reality. What if when John got to know him better or for a longer amount of time he realized that he had made a humongous mistake? What if he broke up with him? Sherlock knew that he had only met John a couple of weeks ago and that the thought of John no longer being a part of his life shouldn’t be quite as devastating as it seemed right now. But he couldn’t help feeling empty and small when the thought of John breaking up with him came to mind.

 

“Hey, you okay? Are you still hurting?” John’s voice came from directly behind Sherlock’s crouching figure in front of John’s bag. Clearly he wasn’t even surprised by seeing Sherlock snooping through his stuff by his tone of voice. More amused if anything.

 

“Yeah. I mean- I’m okay” Sherlock croaked.

John, who was now fully clothed in a soft grey t-shirt and a pair of dark blue jeans crouched next to Sherlock and his eyes shifted to the pages Sherlock was holding between both hands. “Oh..I… I hope you don’t mind I did end up drawing you in my project”

“No its not that… I just. I’m not the hero you drew me to be. I’m not what you think I am.”

“I-”

“Heroes don’t exist John. And even if they did. I wouldn’t be one of them. I’m rude, unfeeling and basically the most unpleasant arsehole anyone could possibly have the misfortune of meeting.” Sherlock’s voice was dry and hollow.

 

“Sherlock you can’t possibly think that!” John’s voice had become hard and serious. Sherlock turned to face him automatically, amazed by the sheer strength of John’s tone.

 

“How could you possibly say you’re unfeeling? How could anyone in their right minds think themselves misfortunate to meeting you is beyond me.” He crouched down beside Sherlock “And yes you can be rude but that doesn’t mean you always are. You’re direct and honest about what you see in a person. Now get up, your ribs must be killing you and I won’t have you unable to dance for the Romeo and Juliet production”

Sherlock, remained speechless, staring at John uncomprehendingly as the blonde stood up and offered a helping hand. He took John’s offered hand and raised himself up, his hold relaxing on the comic pages he held.

“Now come on” John’s expression relaxed and he smiled at Sherlock sweetly “I’ll take care of you”

 

….…

 

“I forgot you lived alone” Sherlock said, looking around at John’s empty flat. It was tiny, really, which explained John’s amazement at the size of Sherlock’s house. It was also quite messy, pencils, pages, sketchbooks and clothes scattered around the room and thrown carelessly over the small amount of furniture.

 

“Yeah... I wasn’t too keen on staying at my mom’s house and she could only get a job far away from the school and I have a rugby scholarship here in Baker High school so… I got this. It’s not much but…” he said, his face flushing as he tried to clean it up a bit, shoving t-shirts and sweaters behind the couch picking up the loose pages on the floor. “Sorry about the mess” he mumbled.

                                                                                                                                    

“I think it’s brilliant” Sherlock exclaimed “I can’t wait to rent my own flat from Mrs.Hudson and finally be out of my parent’s house.”

 

John sighed in relief at Sherlock’s indifference for the mess and led him to the black leather couch at the far right of the small living room. Sherlock sat, holding both hands to his left side ribs and gasping with the slight sting of pain that shot through his body as he moved. The pain wasn’t really that bad, aside from yesterday’s ankle injury, but Sherlock liked the way John tightened his hold on him protective and almost possessively around his waist.

 

“Wait here a minute” John murmured soothingly, his brow crunching in concern and carding his fingers through Sherlock’s curls lightly. Sherlock closed his eyes and revelled in the momentary touch of one John Watson.

 

When John came back he had in his grasp, as promised, a first aid kit and some ice wrapped up in a white kitchen flannel. He sat on the couch next to Sherlock and opened it. “Okay, turn you face towards me?”

Sherlock complied and tipped down his chin to minimize the height difference between them. “Why’d you have to be so bloody tall” John muttered, giving him a faux severe look.

Sherlock just laughed and tried not to blush too hard when John cupped his cheek with one hand so he could turn Sherlock’s face slightly and inspect it from all sides to assess the damage Anderson had caused.

 

“I hate Anderson. I want to bloody murder the dickhead”

“In a creative way?” Sherlock enthused, grinning

“Probably not. I’d be too wound up to actually plan anything clever”

Sherlock shrugged “Fair enough” and after a pause he added “Is it really bad?” he hadn’t been actually concerned with what he looked like up until now but the way John’s eyebrows had crunched into a frown he couldn’t only assume he looked like a bruised and swollen peach.

 

John shook his head no and smoothed his thumb across Sherlock’s cheek, comforting “no…I just hate the fact that he touched you. Hurt you.”

“I broke his nose. And you mad him incapable of reproducing… probably. A gift to humanity, really” John laughed before Sherlock continued “So this day doesn’t count as one of the worst one’s I’ve had. Besides, it’s not the first time I’ve been beat up. If it was only him fighting I could’ve taken him easily...but they were just too many and I wasn’t expecting it.”

“They’re all idiots” John hissed, reaching into his kit and taking out a small tube of cream. “I’ll just dab a bit of this here below the eye to prevent swelling and minimize bruising. I don’t think it’d be too bad anyway…Anderson may be a dick but he has no aim… but just in case.” He rolled off the cap on the tube, squished some into his index finger and pat the area gently.

 

Sherlock remained perfectly still as John took care of him, pressing the ice below his eye and at the centre of his sharp cheekbone. Next John asked him to lie down a bit, resting his head against one of the sofa cushions as John lifted up his shirt slightly to see how bad the rib bruises were. They were certainly darker than they had seemed when Sherlock had shown John in the school’s hallway but they weren’t anything to be overly alarmed or anxious of. They would most likely be gone in less than a week. But that didn’t stop John from looking thoroughly angry at the spattered blotches of purple and blue on Sherlock’s pale skin.

 

John gave Sherlock some Paracetamol pills in case he was still in pain and dabbed more cream into the creases of Sherlock’s ribs. If John was blushing while doing so that was just coincidence or trick of the lighting, of course.

 

Finally, John moved to the far side of the couch and rolled up Sherlock’s jeans at his right ankle. He hissed as he saw the purple bruises and the swelled skin on Sherlock’s usually thin and delicate ankles, not that he had noticed them before or anything. “Oh my god Sherlock! Did you even put ice on it yesterday?”

 

“No… should have I? It also wouldn’t cooperate today in practice”

“You tried to DANCE BALLET  with a swollen sprained ankle?” John exclaimed, his eyes wide with horror. “Nonono. No more dancing, running or jumping for at least a week. And we’re putting ice and some cream on this.” John reached back for the white flannel and the small tube of cream.

“I deleted the pain while dancing. I’m quite good at it when I’m focused.” Sherlock shrugged and let John press the ice against the swollen skin, hissing in discomfort. “Focused my arse.” John muttered, frowning

“Well yes on that too” Sherlock murmured, causing John to blush and grumble something unintelligible in return, his lips pulling upwards against his will.

 

Instead of just lightly dabbing the cream on the area like he had with the other bruises however, John elevated Sherlock’s right foot on to his lap and started massaging it carefully. Caressing the bruises firmly but tenderly and dragging his thumb up the arch of the foot. Sherlock supressed a moan that rose up his throat and gasped in surprise instead as John’s fingers drew up and down his foot slowly, warming every inch of skin they pressed against. He worked the muscles on Sherlock’s foot with his fingers, flexing his toes one by one and putting pressure on the dip of the arch and the sides. He smoothed his fingers gently over the ankle, almost urging the area to decrease to its original size. He was careful and tender and Sherlock felt a thrill of shock from every press and pull of John’s strong and rough fingers. He felt the heat that had pooled on his stomach move lower as John turned his eyes to look at him, the pupils dilated and his breath harsh.  

 

 

Sherlock cleared his throat and looked away “Is this the kind of thing you were distracted by when you couldn’t finish my drawing?” he joked, his voice coming out slightly higher than usually, trying to dissipate the building tension in the room. He felt both the need to run away through the door into the cold empty air and to drag John on top of him in one single rough pull and ravish him. He wasn’t sure which need was stronger.

 

“Heh... maybe.”John coughed a bit, looking away too, his neck flushing up with red.

 

“You could finish it right now if you wanted. I’m not going anywhere anytime soon. Plus lying across the couch is a comfortable position to be drawn in” Sherlock reasoned, his voice finally coming back to its normal pitch.

 

John laughed “Like one of my French girls?”

Sherlock stared at him perplexed “One of your French what?”

John blushed _“_ You know… In the film titanic when Jack drew Rose naked like one of his…like one of his French girls…” Sherlock stared at him “You-You _don’t_ know..” _I shouldn’t have said that.I should’t have said that_ John mentally stabbed himself repeatedly seeing Sherlock’s wide eyed reaction. Sherlock just gazed at him blankly for what seemed like hours

 “Naked?” he finally breathed out, his face colouring deeply.

 

“Oh god Sherlock-  I-I didn’t…I mean I-” John desperately tried to explain himself, his stomach curling into knots as he screamed internally. If there was an end of the world this was certainly it. A string of explanations strung out of John’s mouth incoherently as he attempted to fix this But Sherlock interrupted his pointless alarmed babble.

“Alright” Sherlock whispered, interrupting him, his eyes nervous but seeming intrigued.

 

“Wait…alright?” the blush on John’s neck had spread completely through his face.

 

John wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. One second he had been taking care of Sherlock’s wounds and now they were talking about him drawing Sherlock naked on the couch? Did reality just fizzle apart in the last 15 seconds?

 

“Really? Are you sure?” John asked concernedly not wanting to push Sherlock into something if he felt uncomfortable about it or if it was too soon. They _had_ just formalized their relationship hours ago.

But Sherlock looked significantly more calm than he had just a moment ago as he smiled at John “Yes. Well maybe not completely naked, but perhaps this one you’ll finish for me hmm?” he raised himself into a sitting position and wrapped his arms around himself, clutching the ends of his t-shirt with his hands and pulling the shirt up.

 

“Oh...yes” John croaked, feeling completely frozen, still in shock over where this had turned into, eyeing disbelievingly and appreciatively at the slow revelation of the dancer’s pale skin. He had gotten a glimpse when he had taken a look at Sherlock’s ribs but this context was entirely different and John was doing a poor job of looking like a professional artist. The only thing breaking the tense silence was the shifting of Sherlock’s shirt as he passed it over his head. Now John had a shirtless Sherlock before him, looking smug and seeming to thoroughly enjoy the expression of awe John had on his face.

 

Sherlock’s confidence appeared to be growing, encouraged by the way his boyfriend’s pupils dilated and unconsciously licked his lips. Sherlock was still flushed and his eyes still revealed a glimmer of uncertainty and self-consciousness but his hands were steady as the lowered to the front of his jeans and the sound of his lowering zipper broke the palpable silence like a razor and caused John to gasp at the sound and unconsciously shiver in want.

John lowered Sherlock’s ankle, which was still resting on his lap, down to the couch to make the movements easier for Sherlock and not taking his eyes off of him for even a moment. He turned his body fully towards him and curled his legs under himself.

 

Sherlock’s eyes shifted nervously as he tipped up his hips and pulled down his jeans so slowly he had to be doing it on purpose, he slowly revealed the equally tight black briefs that had the smallest stitching in the shape of a yellow honeybee at the top right corner. He pushed the jeans down and toed his converse and socks off so the jeans pooled next to him and John pushed them to the floor with a flick of a hand.

 

Now Sherlock was looking directly at John wearing nothing but his black briefs and a wide eyed, seductive expression on his face. Sherlock smiled, hooking both thumbs in his briefs, John involuntarily let out a gasp. Sherlock smirked, liking having this effect of John. He started pushing them down over hip hipbones and revealing more of the v shaped muscle with the light trail of dark soft hair. He didn’t take the pants off entirely, however, settling for just pushing them lightly down until they revealed only the start of his thighs and nothing more. John was secretly relieved, seeing all of Sherlock would have make his hands tremble and he wouldn’t have been able to concentrate on drawing him at all.

 

Sherlock stretched out across the couch, curling his toes and poking John in the stomach with them. “Well? I thought you were gonna draw me” Sherlock smirked

John blinked several times, having lost his voice completely. “uhh y-yes. Yes. I’ll do…erm…that” he coughed lightly a couple of times and started sketching Sherlock’s slender figure stretched out before him.

 

He drew the basic shape of the body first, pointedly avoiding looking at Sherlock’s briefs, not wanting to embarrass himself any further. He decided to start off with something he was familiar with so he could at least make an attempt to calm down and cool down his burning cheeks and neck.

He drew the basic sharp lines of Sherlock’s angular face, lining down his sharp cheekbones and the straight line of his nose. From this angle John had a better view of Sherlock’s lower lip than the upper. A lip he now knew the exact texture and taste of on his own tongue. _Stop it Watson. Stop thinking and just draw or things will get…embarrassing._ John licked his lips and started shading below Sherlock’s lip to enhance its size and the moved on to the shape of the eyes and eyebrows. The wild mess of Sherlock’s curls was always a favourite of his, enjoying how a few hairs flicked down into his forehead while others fanned out on the pillow bellow his head, forming a halo around him.

 

When he was done with the face and hair he moved on to the long lines of his neck that melted into the pronounced collarbones. His neck was something John had always loved about him. It was everything that represented Sherlock, long, lean and elegant. During their few make out sessions John had simply caressed it but hadn’t had the courage to kiss it or suck at it, something he had longed to do since the very first time he had set his eyes on the boy. The shoulders surrounding it were also thin, but below the delicate pale skin in his chest and neck the muscles underneath were clearly defined. As were the ones on his abdomen. Even though Sherlock was very thin he was also very fit and strong. Not quite the same way as John was, but strong nonetheless. It was fascinating to be able to stare at this man’s body with an excuse to do so. Although John had to admit to himself that he spent a little too much time staring and a little less time drawing.

 

 Time passed by them but Sherlock did not move an inch. He seemed almost as focused on John as John was on him. The blonde moved down Sherlock’s body on his drawing with ease. Shading every dip of muscle and toning every sharp angle of Sherlock’s hips and elbows. Finally he moved down to his thighs, and when he could not put it off any longer he finally turned his eyes in between Sherlock’s legs. The briefs were thin and snug so although they weren’t white and John couldn’t actually _see_ anything just the suggestion of the shape was enough to set John’s heart in a frenzy. He felt certain Sherlock could somehow hear it as his breath stuttered.

 

His mouth felt dry and he could not swallow.

He pointedly avoided looking up at Sherlock, expecting him to be looking at John with a smug expression at John’s embarrassment. As John kept shading the briefs and fixing the lines of the shape carefully suddenly he looked up again and it looked… different somehow. _That doesn’t look quite right_ John frowned looking down at his drawing and back at Sherlock’s briefs.

John had made sure that the angle and proportions were correct so why did it look different? Maybe the lighting had changed? Or Sherlock had moved positions and now it looked different? But no, that wasn’t it; John hadn’t seen Sherlock move at all. He looked up to Sherlock’s face and saw that he was slightly panting, his cheeks were bright red and he was looking at John through hooded dark eyes, not smug at all but nervous and self-conscious. Oh… _Oh._ Sherlock had not moved. The lighting had not changed. Sherlock’s briefs looked different because they had swelled under John’s watchful gaze. Sherlock Holmes was stretched out almost underneath John… openly aroused and staring at John intently, almost daring.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO that happened.... the rating will erm... change next chapter just btw... yep.... i'm gonna uhh...go now. ;)


	13. But now... with you

****

 

The seconds ticked by them in charged, electric silence. John swallowed hard. His gaze broke from Sherlock’s hooded one and he turned his eyes towards his tight black briefs. The shape had swelled even further and Sherlock’s chest was rising and sinking more rapidly and deeply. His cheeks were bright red as his eyes met John’s, looking almost hopeful. The nerves were still there but there was also this sense of want.

He wordlessly sat up from his laying position, his eyes turning to stare at John’s lips for a moment. John’s hands were still in the same position where they’d stopped as soon as he realized the state Sherlock was in. John discretely looked down at himself to make sure he hadn’t just combusted or caught flame. It really was _far_ too hot in this room.

Sherlock took the sketchbook and pencil from John’s grasp gently, without breaking eye contact and placed them on the side table behind John, bending closer to him in the process.

John had no idea how it happened but next thing he knew he was pushing Sherlock back on the couch with his arms wrapped around his bare waist and attacking Sherlock with his mouth. Sherlock hummed in surprise and approval and plunged his tongue into John’s warm mouth, tangling it with his own and wrapping his arms around John’s feverish shoulders.

Sherlock curled his hands around John’s neck to his hair and pulled him closer, causing John to growl and bite Sherlock’s pouting and rosy bottom lip, sucking it between his teeth. The dancer gasped and tightened his hold on John’s hair, pulling roughly.

John ran his hands down Sherlock’s sides and stroked his boyfriend’s tongue with his own, the latter’s breath hitching as he tied to pull John closer to his body and arched his back, desperate to have some friction against his bulging underwear. John gasped at the brushing of Sherlock’s briefs against his thigh and turned his head, leaving a trail of wet kisses from Sherlock’s mouth, to his jaw and finally settling on that gorgeous pale column of neck he had been longing to touch.

He started off with light teasing kisses, and then opened his mouth more and nibbled at Sherlock’s collarbones, soothing the light bites with light laps of tongue and presses of his soft lips. Sherlock was panting, stroking his hands down John’s back and reaching down until his long elegant hands cupped John’s arse and he _pulled_ , bringing John’s hips against his and drawing broken sounds from each of them.

Sherlock slid his hands back up John’s body and started pulling at his shirt “Mmmm... John. Take this off.”

John nodded, unwilling to separate his lips from Sherlock’s collarbones, finally proving that they in fact _were_ as sweet as they had looked that time Sherlock had sprayed water over himself. When he did separate however, he righted his position and straddled Sherlock’s hips, pulling up his deep blue shirt over his head, exposing his tan and toned abdomen. Up close Sherlock was able to appreciate how strong his boyfriend really was. How his loose shirts did him nor his body no justice. John’s shoulders were broad and his arms thick with muscles, his chest was flat except for the bulging slopes of his six-pack. Sherlock ran his long fingers through the creases they had in between them, his breath catching with the contrasting tone of his pale white skin and John’s golden body.

John was watching him intently, his lips pulling into a sweet smile Sherlock had to absolutely know the taste of _now_. He pulled him back into his arms and this time immediately covered John’s arse with his hands, squeezing. John giggled and kissed down Sherlock’s chest, stopping to lick at one of Sherlock’s nipples, tracing around it with the tip of his warm tongue before capturing it with his mouth and sucking lightly on it. Sherlock let out a high loud whimper and arched his back again, unable to stop himself.

John was reaching a point where he would barely be able to stop himself if things moved any further so he tore his mouth away from Sherlock’s chest with huge effort and gasped out “Are you sure you want to do this? We don’t have to…it’s alright”, he traced his hand up and down Sherlock’s side.

“I do want this” Sherlock panted, his eyes shifting between John’s. “I can’t remember ever wanting anything as much as I want this. My body has always been just transport. I’ve never been interested in investing my time in... Physical relationships. But now…” He licked his lips, looking at John heatedly, “with you…” Sherlock knew he was rambling, knew that his brain was effectively shutting down and letting loose all thoughts that passed through his head without filter. But at this precise moment he frankly wasn’t arsed to care, he just needed John, right now.

“So you’ve never..?” John had been surprised by the confidence in which Sherlock had pulled him down and begun snogging him just moments ago. And even if the front part of his mind had been thrilled and excited there had been a slight twinge of himself wondering how many times Sherlock had done this with other people as to be so confident and so... _good._ Granted up until now they had done only kissing and mild groping but John had never been with someone that seemed to know his body twice as better as he knew his own. He knew he had no right to be jealous considering he himself had done this with other people before but there was a part of him that burnt with even the thought of someone else touching Sherlock.. .seeing him like this, vulnerable, aroused, flustered and John might as well think it… _hot as hell._

Sherlock shook his head “No I’ve never...done this...but I want this now, with you. Kiss me” he smiled.

John groaned gratefully and dropped back his head to press his lips back to Sherlock’s, sinking into the kiss. Sherlock smoothed his hands down John’s bare and warm chest, slowly venturing lower with his right hand, testing the waters before he finally reached down and cupped John’s cock through his strained faded jeans and squeezed lightly. John hissed a breath and separated himself from Sherlock’s body enough to cover Sherlock’s hand with his own, trailing his fingers along his boyfriend’s as Sherlock zipped his jeans open, eyes locked and their gazes hungry.

John shimmied out of his jeans, thankful for the fact that he had already taken off his shoes when they had entered the flat and he could now easily slide them off without breaking too much contact with Sherlock’s warm and eager body.

Sherlock’s gaze ran hungrily down John’s body towards his briefs. As soon as he caught sight of them however, he started snickering “Red briefs John? Really?”

“It’s laundry day! And yours have a bee on yours!” John reiterated blushing and motioning towards said bee in Sherlock’s pants. Granted the stitched shape was quite small but still.

Sherlock huffed an easy laugh, the vibration echoing on John’s chest “I like bees” he whispered and bit John’s earlobe lightly, bringing him back down with one hand on his neck to lock their lips together.

John ground down on Sherlock, the contact even with both layers of briefs sending shocks of pleasure through both of their bodies. “J-John” Sherlock gasped, running his nails down his boyfriends back. He brought his legs up and, being careful to mind his still aching ankle as he wrapped them around John’s thighs, pushing his hips up to feel the drag of the friction again.

The sounds of their wet desperate kisses and their soft panting reverberated through the small living room, filling their ears. It was all hot kisses and hands everywhere until the friction behind their briefs was no longer enough. Soon enough Sherlock tugged as John’s pants with  suggestive fingers and began shimming out of his own. But catching John’s entranced sight on the progress if his pants down his hips Sherlock slowed down his movements, raising his hips luxuriously slowly and John had to suppress the whimper that rose up on his throat at the sight of Sherlock naked and under him, trapped in between John’s strong arms. He reached a hand and traced the soft patch of hair that started off at Sherlock’s navel and followed it down carefully with his fingers where it nestled Sherlock’s beautiful and pale cock. It was everything Sherlock was, thin, elegant and _long._  

John’s breath hitched at the sight and Sherlock had to tug at his pants again to make his point, smirking knowingly at John’s embarrassed flush. John giggled “I’m going I’m going. It’s just…must you be so perfect everywhere?”. He turned his attention back towards his own pants with a grumble.

Sherlock chuckled “says the Mr. Golden-muscles right here”

John rolled his eyes, smiling, and went right back to attacking Sherlock’s neck with kisses, cutting off Sherlock’s laughter with a high whine. John finished towing his own pants and slid them down in one swift movement, before throwing them across the room.

“Someone’s- ohhh… eager… hah” Sherlock panted, smirking.

“Well ..uff…someone’s currently…oh.. slowly thrusting up my..uhh…leg”

Sherlock shrugged, not denying it and looked down at John’s straining cock and gasped. John was most definitely way above average in size and girth. He did have a tan line below his navel probably from playing rugby shirtless (Sherlock instantly wanted to see _that_ happen as soon as possible), but his skin was still darker than Sherlock’s. His trail of hair was golden and soft and his cock was currently tainted a red desperate colour. Sherlock was effectively rendered speechless.

John reached up with his left hand to cup Sherlock’s cheek, when their eyes met neither knew who started the heated, almost violent kiss that followed. But they were both thrusting up to meet each other and when they cocks met and slid together wetly they both had to separate and gap out similarly pitched groans.

John gave Sherlock a flirty grin and slid down his body, peppering it with wet kisses and slides of his lips, dipping his tongue momentarily on Sherlock’s belly button and swirling. It sounded like Sherlock was trying very hard to form a coherent word but all that came out were half gasps and groans, plenty of which resembled John’s name.

The blonde then stretched down and grasped both of Sherlock’s legs by his cream coloured thighs and placed them gently around his shoulders, then turned his head and kissed the inside of the right one lightly, down, and down, and down until he reached his groin where he started licking closer and closer around Sherlock’s cock. “Oh… _Oh_ god J-J… _Johnn”_. John looked up through hooded eyes “Not so smug now are we?” he panted, grinning mischievously.

Sherlock opened his mouth with a pop, clearly to retort something witty but John suddenly dipped his mouth and licked a hot flat stripe up Sherlock’s cock along a thick vein and Sherlock gave out a high strangled noise, hit head pressing back into the couch’s armrest.

By the time John had stopped teasing him and had taking him in his mouth, sucking firmly and bobbing his head up and down encouraged by Sherlock’s pulling hands that had quickly drifted down and found their way into John’s hair, Sherlock was pretty sure he had melted into a puddle of pure bliss. John had of course, never done this before as he’d been with his share of girls but never with a guy so he couldn’t take him down too deep just yet. He knew what he liked though, and he tried to imitate the movements, reaching out and caressing his testicles gently with his left hand and grasping the base of Sherlock’s cock with his right to cover more of his length.

John was surprised by how much he found he enjoyed doing this. Especially since it was a first for not just him but to Sherlock too and seeing and better yet, _hearing_ the way he was reacting to his first blow job was nothing short of magical and the most arousing thing John had ever witnessed. Sherlock was physically restraining himself from thrashing around the cushions with the overwhelming amount of sensations.

John was humming around him, sending thrills of pleasure throughout his body with every bob of his head and lap of his tongue and holding Sherlock’s hips down with one hand. John’s tongue cupped perfectly around the head of Sherlock’s cock as if by design and he lapped at the slit teasingly a couple of times, making Sherlock whimper and pull at his hair as he writhed against the couch.

Sherlock had his eyes snapped shut but he could feel John’s smugness radiating from him and the smile against him, he made a fuzzy mental note to take revenge… _if_ he remembered later on anyway.

Soon enough Sherlock was pulling roughly at John’s hair to somehow let him know just how close he really was. John responded by stroking more roughly and sucking deeply, hollowing his cheeks until Sherlock made a strangled noise above him and his vision exploded in white bliss and John’s mouth was flooded with come. Sherlock hear distantly the sounds of someone moaning was sounded like a torrent of John’s name and opened his eyes when he realized it was himself, blushing scarlet and turning to look at John, worried he’d done something weird or unrequired as John pulled off his softening cock with a wet click.

John, however, was looking at him full of wonder and Sherlock stared right back, panting harshly and marvelling at the miracle that was John’s very existence. He yanked John by the neck and, ignoring his still desperate need for oxygen, kissed him sloppily, placing his hands on John’s arse again, and squeezing. Sherlock felt sated and limp and his kisses were all over the place and John thought it was just the most wonderful kiss they had shared up until this point. Sherlock could taste himself in John’s tongue and the very thought made him feel like he could get heard again just at the very memory of how that warm mouth had felt around him.

He was suddenly aware of John’s hard and hot erection pressing against his left thing as they’re kissing and, without thinking about it too much he slid his right hand from where it was grasping John’s arse to his cock, curling his long fingers around it for the first time without any layers in between them. What struck him most is not just how much he’s relishing in the fact that it was John’s cock he was holding, but the guttural growl that escaped from John’s open mouth into his own, animalistic and raw. Sherlock in turn griped the erection tighter in his fist and moved his hand experimentally over it. After all, all the experience he had with this was moving his fist over his own erection and he wanted to get it right, especially after the mind blowing orgasm John had given him.

John, however, didn’t seem to have a preference for technique, his preference seeming to be just Sherlock’s fist flying over him sufficient enough to bring him over the edge. Sherlock swiped a thumb over the head swiftly, gathering the pre come that had weeped out of the slit and using it as lubrication for the length and John’s eyes rolled back in his head as he groaned out Sherlock’s name. It didn’t take long before he was spilling over Sherlock’s fingers and spattering over his chest, gasping out harshly.

John fell forward onto Sherlock’s soiled chest and tucked his face into his boyfriend’s neck, kissing it repeatedly and murmuring endearments. “That was amazing… you’re amazing”

“N-no.. what _you_ did that… that was…uhh...good. Very good.”

John chuckled at Sherlock’s shy compliment and wrapped his arms under Sherlock pliant body. “It was a first for me… I’ve never done any of this with... a guy”

“Hmm… John Watson coming to terms with his sexuality.” He laughed breathlessly, still trying to regain enough composure to form complete thoughts.

John giggled “shut up” and ducked his face again to kiss tenderly at Sherlock’s neck.

Sherlock closed his eyes, exhausted and boneless, trying to remember when he had felt this happy and safe, tucked under John’s warm strong body and thinking words he knew were too soon to say but felt more real to him than ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote porn! I know.. haha I'm not even sorry.  
> I'm taking my writer-ginity as i've never written sexy times before so I hope it's alright.. if not dont worry there will be more scene for me to learn eh? (I might be writing one right now)
> 
> Next update: Either Saturday or Sunday- depending if I finish ch 17 by tomorrow :)
> 
> (also... always give a final read. i just noticed id written  
> "John giggled “shut up” and fucked his face again ." instead of "John giggled “shut up” and ducked his face again to kiss tenderly at Sherlock’s neck."  
> ....like WTF John. hahaha


	14. The calm before the storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!! Thanks soo mcuh for all the lovely feedback i've gotten-it really means a lot to me that you guys check back on this story :) I love writing it soo much. 
> 
> You might've noticed I added a chapter so instead of 20 now there will be 21. This is just because Sherlock and John wouldn't stop having sex and they wouldn't let me continue the story so I blame them for the unplanned chapter in between.
> 
> This is a long-ish chapter cause I joined 14 and 15 as they weren't... good enough to be lone chapters. so now instead of having finished ch17 today-I finished ch16 and im all *Screams in frustration*  
> Nonetheless I wanted to post this today- I hope it's alright :)  
> Next update will be: Monday :P

_I think that went well_ Mike thought to himself as he was walking down the street towards his house. He had just ended his first date with Molly. He had, although been hesitant to meet her at first, no doubt in his mind that he could fall hard for this girl. It’s not that he didn’t want to meet her when John described her. It was just... he had never been very good with girls, being far too shy to talk to them most of the time; and whenever he took the courage he always ended up saying something embarrassing. All the guys on the rugby team had it easy, they were all tall _Well not John but he certainly has never had any problems getting girls….or guys now maybe_. They also all had rock hard abs and toned muscles all over their bodies. Girl’s just swooned over the entire rugby team as a rule in their school but… Mike never really seemed to have as much attention as any of them. He was quite good at rugby, but he lacked the body and the confidence to walk up to girls and ask them out. So when John had suggested, or _told_ him it was happening really, to set him up with his friend Molly, Mike had been hesitant.

John had introduced them in the very room where he had spied on John with their entire rugby team. Mike had been instantly struck with how cute and adorable Molly was. She was also shorter than Mike which was an accomplishment by itself. She also looked very nervous, which made Mike feel tremendously better. After a couple of awkward introductions John had clapped his hands together and said “Well.. I guess I’ll leave you two to it” and then _the bastard,_ Mike snorted,had left them there alone together. He had needlessly worried though, as they had hit it off once they started talking about music and finding out they both watched ‘Supernatural’ and ‘Dr.Who’.

 After Molly’s audition, which Mike had watched from the right wing of the stage completely astounded by Molly’s gorgeous movements and delicacy, and had impulsively, albeit stutteringly, he had asked her out on a coffee date for the next date after his rugby practice, to which she agreed happily.

They had met on a coffee shop called “Speedy’s” which was, although quite small and hidden from view aside from the red banner, surprisingly good. They had talked for about two hours and Mike had been surprised at how easy it was to be himself around her. She was the kindest girl he had ever met and although she always stumbled out clumsy jokes he found them both hilarious and adorable.

Mike smiled to himself as he kept walking down the road, thinking about Molly and how he really owed John one. John’s apartment was across from his house so maybe later he’d come over and thank him properly, maybe drop off a couple of beers.

Just as Mike reached his front porch, though, he heard the door for the small apartment building where John lived click open and he turned his head around, curious. Instead of seeing some random stranger like he had expected, however, he was faced with Sherlock walking out of the building followed by John himself who just stood inside the door. Sherlock’s hair was always messy but right this moment he looked like he had been through a hurricane… on his head.  John was no better, he had blond tufts of hair pointing in all directions and even worse, he was only wearing a pair of crinkled boxers that were clearly put on so carelessly that half of his right hip was peeking out. Sherlock was wearing John’s rugby jacket inside out and his shoes were half untied. Even from across the street what had gone on between them could not have been more obvious.

Neither of them noticed Mike staring at them across the street open mouthed, blinking and gasping in shock. They were far too absorbed in the whispered conversation they were having, their faces inches away from each other. John was holding Sherlock’s left hand in his own and staring at Sherlock with such adoration Mike felt like he was intruding in a private moment even when this was practically taking place outside. Sherlock laughed at something John said and ducked his head to kiss him tenderly for a long moment. They broke away after a while and Sherlock started walking away, his steps a little swayed and his gaze glazed as John waved goodbye and closed the door with a small smile on his face.

After Mike had stopped hyperventilating and gawking he ran into his house, and snatched his phone from his back pocket dialling as fast as his trembling fingers would allow him. After a couple of seconds a voice answered and Mike grinned maniacally before positively shouted “GREG! GREG! YOU WILL NOT BELIEVE WHAT JUST HAPPENED”.

……..The next day…….

John and Sherlock agreed to go to ballet practice even though Sherlock’s ankle was still far too hurt to do any proper dancing. The cream and the ice John gave him had helped tremendously and his face was looking almost perfectly normal by the time they saw each other inside the ballet studio. This time around after John checked Molly and Mrs. Hudson were not in the room he did not hesitate to sweep Sherlock into his arms and raise him a bit off the floor as he kissed him hello, tipping up his own chin to reach his as Sherlock reacted without hesitation and wrapped his long fingers around the back of John’s head and his legs around John’s hips.

“Mmmm... what’s this about then?” Sherlock murmured against John’s lips

“Nothing…just missed you that’s all. You really need to tell me your class schedule or I’ll go crazy looking for you in school.”

Sherlock nodded, huffing a laugh and slid slowly out of John’s arms and down onto the floor, making sure he didn’t put all his weight on his right ankle. “Don’t worry. I’ll find you”

“SherlockSherlockSherlockSherlock!!” Molly’s voice was streaming non-stop in the distance, the sound becoming louder and clearer as she sprinted into the room and stopped directly in front of Sherlock, who was staring at her in mixed surpised and amusement.

She took a deep breath, calming herself down from the panting and began talking, just as loudly and excitedly “Did you hear?! The casting is going to be announced next tuesday! That’s so quick! They must be pretty close to narrowing down the auditions they liked” Molly was talking as fast as her words could take her and if John hadn’t been so exposed to Sherlock’s lightning fast deductions as of late he was pretty sure he never would have been able to keep up. Sherlock’s eyebrows lifted up on his forehead but instead of the smile John had expected to see lighting up his face he looked crestfallen and disappointed, his lips pursing in distaste.

“What’s wrong?” Molly asked, clearly too concerned with Sherlock’s reaction and beating John to the punch

“Nothing.. It’s fine. Really” Sherlock tried to smile reassuringly at her but John could see right through it. Sherlock was pointedly avoiding looking at him and decided to opt for a change in conversation “So Molly.. I hear you went on a date with Mike yesterday”

“Oh my god yes! JOHN!” she spun in her spot to look at a stunned John. “Thank you so much for introducing us! Mike is just the loveliest…”

Sherlock tuned out the rest of the babbled retelling of her and Mike’s first date and, seeing as how John was too busy getting excited with Molly’s story he took the chance to compose his features to something more normal so John wouldn’t question him about his reaction to the casting with suspicion.

Sherlock knew there would be other chances for him to get agents or perhaps a part on a ballet performance. But he had worked so hard for this for months and months and he had no doubt in his mind that he was not the one that would get it. He hadn’t seen any of the other performances, learning very fast in his ballet experience that watching other people perform before you would only make you even more nervous or over confident depending on the quality of their dance and both scenarios were no good.

Anyhow, even if Sherlock knew it wasn’t his last chance he just couldn’t forget the gasps of the judges, the fear in John’s eyes, the malicious joy in Moriarty’s. Besides, what had that audition gotten him? No part on the play, embarrassment and a sprained ankle. Thanks a lot indeed.

Sherlock limped as carefully as he could towards the piano on the corner of the room, an idea to distract John sparking in his mind. It was layered by a thin sheet of dust but it had been tuned less than a year ago so it ought to be playable. After Molly and John stopped gushing over whatever it was they were gushing about, Sherlock had deleted it, John looked up at Sherlock sitting on the piano bench curiously and walked over to him, leaving the bag he had strung on his shoulder on the ground and sitting on the wooden bench next to his boyfriend.

“What are you doing sitting here? Does you ankle hurt?” he looked concerned

“No” Sherlock, smiled “I just want to prove a theory”

“That…?”

“That you can actually play piano”

“You know I do. Or try to anyway” John laughed

“Yes well, humour me” Sherlock smirked

John rolled his eyes, but Sherlock could see he had no real heat behind the gesture. John shook his head slightly at him but immediately turned his eyes towards the keys. He looked unsure “I haven’t played in a while… how come nobody ever plays this piano anyway?”

Molly turned towards John and beat Sherlock to answering his question “Because Sherlock is far too picky and he yelled at the last two piano players because they were.. what was your wording again Sher? ‘Dragging the noted by 3/5ths of a time.’ And so one by one they quit. Well not really quit but they won’t go in this room anymore if Sherlock’s dancing” Molly laughed, grinning teasingly at the scowling Sherlock.

“Well it’s hardly my fault that they didn’t know how to read timing and they weren’t doing their job right is it?” Sherlock retorted back.

John just chuckled and looked at Sherlock fondly, raising a hand and tucking a couple of curls behind his ear. Sherlock kept grumbling but blushed at John’s tender gesture.

“Fine. I’ll play for you but you have to promise me not to judge. You already deduced I’m pretty bad at this anyway right?”

Sherlock smirked and shrugged, “I didn’t say it was sure you were bad. It’s just balance of probability. I said the probability that you are is higher than the probability that you aren’t.”

John rolled his eyes again with a sigh and nudged Sherlock with his elbow lightly so he would scoot on the bench and give him more room for his left arm.

John took a deep breath and started playing a soft, sweet melody. Sherlock instantly recognized it. It wasn’t exactly a well-known song, or even a classical song but Sherlock spent hours and hours researching original melodies he could dance to. It wasn’t the same as the original score, John was putting himself and his own touch into it and it was beautiful. 

The music itself was not perfect, as John had said himself, he had not played in a couple of years. But like everything John put his soul and emotion into, it was beautiful. The song was clearly nostalgic and sweet and John looked so immersed in it that he did not notice Sherlock’s eyes widening in surprise at the sight of his strong fingers dancing over the keys confidently.

He stood up from the bench carefully and wobbled as carefully as he could to the cabinet next to the one where the stereo was balanced on. He crouched down and opened the old wooden doors swiftly so the creak of the aging wood would not interrupt or drown out John’s melody. At the very back of the cabinet there was an old dark brown violin with a bow Sherlock reached out for. He straightened up and brought it as close to his ear as he could and softy plunked the string to make sure they were in tune. After turning the nobs a couple of time he seemed satisfied and he went over next to John who was looking at him in surprise but had not stopped playing.

Sherlock just grinned at him and brought the violin to his chin and tapped his foot, finding the rhythm and place before he then started playing alongside John to the melody. John’s heart soared as Sherlock’s melody joined his in perfect harmony to his song. The thought that Sherlock would recognize the tune, or better yet _know_ how to play it had never crossed his mind. From a peripheral view John could see Sherlock, reflected in all the mirrors around them with his eyes closed and his bow slicing through the air and ringing out perfectly clear and mellifluous notes, keeping in perfect time with John as if he could exactly expect when John would decide to slow down or speed up through his breathing. John could also see Molly rising to her feet from where she had been stretching and listening, beginning an improvised dance to the song.

John stopped worrying whether or not he was good, whether he was disappointing Sherlock or proving him right in the fact that his forte really wasn’t music, his old piano and clarinet teacher could probably vouch for that, and just kept on playing pouring his every emotion into the melody and the slowing soft noted that rung and echoed across the classroom.

Molly twirled and spun  with the song, relishing in the live music she rarely got a chance to dance to (Sherlock would allow live “inadequate” players for her either). This was perhaps the moment when she truly realized how strangely well Sherlock and John fit with each together. They were both so different, one genius ballet dancer and one popular rugby player, and somehow thy both understood each other to the very core and their song matched to the very last ringing note on Sherlock’s violin, John’s deep blue eyes focused on him and only him. And Molly felt no trace of the past jealousy, no trace of the hurt she had felt at seeing Sherlock kiss someone else. She felt warm and overjoyed at seeing two people so different, find themselves in each other.

Sherlock opened his eyes and met John’s soft gaze. He cleared his throat “It seems like I was mistaken.”

“Really?” John wriggled his eyebrows, grinning at him

Sherlock huffed but couldn’t quite hide his smile. “You play beautifully. ‘I Giorni’ was the song right? That was… unexpected”

“You’re not the only one who likes instrumental music” John winked

Sherlock chuckled and opened his mouth to respond when a tall boy walked into the classroom, a superior smile playing on his lips as he simpered at Sherlock. He had sharp green eyes and dirty blonde hair that was evenly cut in military fashion. He was clearly another ballet dancer from one of the other studios in the building as he was wearing leather slippers, a loose red top shirt and black tights similar to Sherlock’s.

“Well, well what do we have here eh?” the dirty blonde drawled, slurring his words. “Looks like someone here is still willing to show his face where he is no longer wanted” he grinned.

“Victor” Sherlock hissed, not even bothering with a greeting, the corners of his mouth tugging downwards in a frown. John felt alert as soon as Sherlock tensed. He stood up from behind the piano and came to stand next to his boyfriend, rigid beside him, barely moving aside from his clenching fists, whitening his knuckles as he felt the distaste coming of in waves from both directions from Sherlock to the boy and from the latter to Sherlock.

“So you decided to come here anyway even after that horrible fall you had during the audition. I bet that was immeeensely embarrassing. Well, I say guess but I saw it myself. The judges kept whispering to themselves about it even after you left you know?” the boy that was apparently called Victor laughed out and that John instantly hated him.

Sherlock said nothing but his faced coloured an ugly blotched red and his angry glare faltered, his eyes falling to his slippers like they had when he had to bow for the judges after his fall.

Victor took the silence as a segue to look back to Sherlock. “you’re not gonna say anything? You already know you’re not gonna get it don’t you?” he grinned, his face twisting

Sherlock scoffed, looking back up at the boy with renewed offense. “I would not be so sure _Vic”_ he spat out the name “the judges know me. They know what I’m capable of. They know I’d do anything to be the best”. That was a lie.  Sherlock knew he wasn’t going to be picked but he couldn’t stand the idea of having Trevor here make fun of him.

Victor’s smile didn’t falter “Oh but Sherlock… you _fell._ Do you think the judges would pick someone for the part that was a fall risk?” He tutted, shaking his head at him . 

“It wasn’t his fault. And don’t you dare talk to him like that” John growled.

“Ooh looks like you got yourself a little guardian here don’tcha freak?” Victor sneered. This guy was even worse than Anderson, he didn’t even have the decency to look like an idiot who simply misunderstood the amazing miracle that was Sherlock, this guy was smug and arrogant and looked at John as if he was a fly stepping on his freshly baked tartlet, unwelcome and minuscule. Granted, the guy was at least two heads taller than John, even taller than the pillar that was Sherlock, but John was much stronger and compact. He took a steady step in front of Sherlock and glared up at Victor with rage and heat in his deep blue eyes.

His nostrils were flaring, his chest was puffing out and his fists were clenching. “What did you call him?” He was two words spoken by this punk away from leaving him like he had Anderson and his friends when Mrs. Hudson ran into the room.

 “Sorry kids I was- What’s going on here?” she snapped, her eyes shifting between Victor and John, both of which had been glaring darkly at one another until she had come into the room, but the tension in their bodies had not quite managed to dissipate in time for her not to see it. “Mr. Trevor? What are you doing in here?”

“Oh, nothing Mrs. Hudson I was just… passing by to wish Sherlock good luck on the casting on tuesday” Victor answered, straightening up and flashing her the most charming smile he could whip up. Mrs. Hudson did not look fooled but she let it go

“Very well then, if you don’t mind Mr. Trevor I have a class I have to attend to” she dismissed him with a wave of her hand and turned to molly who was standing on a corner, wide eyed. Victor looked offended at having been so brutally ignored but he spared one last glare to Sherlock and John and before he walked out of the room, head held high.

   “I hate that guy” John hissed right after Victor had left the room, clenching his fists and narrowing his eyes.

“He’s harmless really. Just likes to show off, I didn’t see him dance but I know for a fact he won’t get it”

“I hate that guy” John reiterated

“I mean I didn’t get it, obviously, but if anyone is going to it’ll be wither Jim or Carl. Unfortunately. But anyone better that _Victor_ ”

“I hate that guy”

Molly snorted, snapping both teens from their own conversations with themselves. They both turned to look at her blankly, having realized that they were talking to themselves. “Oh… sorry. It’s just… you shouldn’t let Victor bother both of you like that. I saw his audition. He didn’t fall but he got half of the choreography wrong. Plus he’s _clearly_ jealous of both of you.”

“Jealous? But why would he be jealous of me?” John asked, confused

“Because you have Sherlock, he was staring at both of you through the open door. And he used to have a thing for him. At the time I thought Sherlock wasn’t into guys and Victor was being irrationally angry but now...”

“What?!” John exclaimed, wide eyed at the same time that Sherlock’s lip curled in disgust and he shrugged. “Why didn’t you tell me that guy had a thing for you?”

Sherlock shrugged again “He tried to make his advances. But I wasn’t interested and let him know quite… ah… bluntly”

John’s careful from dissipated and he grinned, stepping in front of Sherlock and wrapping his arms around his waist. “Oh yeah? Good. I hate that guy”

Sherlock chuckled “so I’ve heard”

Molly smiled at the sight of them as Mrs. Hudson cleared her throat, “Well…. As you all know the results _will_ come out next week but whatever that Trevor kid said to both of you; ignore it. The judges are still deliberating and have barely narrowed down the competitors. You all have as big of a chance as he does” she smiled at her students “Now… Sherlock I know you can’t dance today but perhaps you could do that.. mental… choreography thing while I help Molly with her choreographies.”

Both of her students nodded at their teacher, Molly walking to the centre of the class and Sherlock shuffling back to the bench on the piano followed by John.

…                                                       

After ballet practice was finished Sherlock had to go to the doctor as his brother had forced him to get his ankle checked out, even at Sherlock’s insistence that it had swelled down significantly. Mycroft had said, as Sherlock had reiterated ‘in his own snobby words’, “the fact that you could trust your health and career on the care and the hands of an 18 year old boy is beyond me. You are going to a proper doctor, and I won’t hear any more of it Sherlock.”

Sherlock walked with John most of the way with their hands intertwined, to school but when they were getting close to the rugby pitch Sherlock turned him around, planted a firm kiss on his lips and looked frowning onto the street next to them, almost as if by cue a black limousine pulled over right next to them and the front window rolled down. “Get in. Before you catch pneumonia” a nasal deep voice rumbled from within the darkness of the car. John couldn’t see anything inside the car except for the faint silhouette of the profile of a well combed man with a hooked nose, staring straight.

Sherlock sighed, knowing giving a witty retort back would be completely pointless and with one last glance at John he marched towards the car and stepped inside. The front window rolled up and the limousine drove off with a low purr of the engine.  John stared after the retreating limo, smiling to himself but getting a weird feeling about Sherlock’s older, controlling brother. Had he been following them since they’d left the ballet building. John had a weird stone cold feeling sinking low in his gut that he would get to meet this Mycroft guy sometime soon and he felt oddly small when the thought struck.

The only thing John knew about Sherlock’s brother was what little his boyfriend had told him. That he was ‘a pain in the arse’, that he had an important government job and that he allowed Sherlock to visit crime scenes to save himself large amount of work and exercise. But the dim silhouette John had glimpsed was not the massively obese man Sherlock had described, and John wasn’t so sure he wanted to meet him anymore. He _was_ thinking about introducing Sherlock to his own mother, even though he really had no idea how she would react at her son having a boyfriend or if she would even be sober enough to process the fact that John was even there not to go into him bringing someone with him. He had thought about introducing him to Harry as well but the chances of _her_ being sober were even lower than the chances he had with his mother.

John pursed his lips, trying as hard as he could to forget about his family and just walked over to the rugby field. He wasn’t feeling too keen on rugby today either, Greg had been acting strange around him, all jittery. Mike had acted weird too, it seemed as if he and Greg were always exchanging looks over John throughout lunch and classes and John felt uncomfortable and a little left out. He figured it was probably nothing but he still wished that whatever it was that was going on with them, they would just tell him.

As soon as John reached the pitch however, he was not greeted by the same smirks he had seen all day but by a thundering-ear-splitting-glass-breaking roaring of cheers.

“Our Johnny boy! Or should we say… our Mr. Seductor?” Greg whooped

John just looked more surprised and confused by all the enthusiasm than ever. “Uhh… what?” he had a feeling he knew exactly what his friends were referring too but he decided to best play out like he had no clue what they were talking about, a dread sinking llow in his stomach.  


“You and Sherlock!” Mike grinned “We’re so happy you guys are finally together!”

John blushed to the very tip of his ears “How… how did you know that?”. John _had_ been planning to tell his entire team today but the fact that they already knew.. aside from their single kiss in front of the biology lab they had been fairly careful to keep their relationship under wraps. And he was super they hadn’t seen him and Sherlock during or after the fight with Anderson or else they surely would’ve stepped in to help or find out what was going on.

Mike’s grin snapped into a guilty pout, his eyes shifted to anywhere but John “I ummm sort of saw him walking out of your apartment yesterday, after you guys probably uhhh well”

John was completely certain for a full moment that he had caught fire. He had to look down at himself discreetly to make sure that the flames weren’t eating him alive and his knees weren’t melting. “Oh…My… God”

 “I was in my underwear!” he groaned as the entire team cheered and whistled. John tried to be offended very hard. He really did. But maybe it was the good-natured laughter, or the grins of joy that surrounded him but one second John was mortified and the next he felt elated.

Greg grinned “My little Johnny’s getting some!” he faked wiping away a tear of pride, grinning and slung his arm across John’s shoulders. John grinned right back at him and shrugged “Well… yeah. I’m not even gonna try to deny that” he winked, and was received with a chorus of “Eyyyyy!”.

 _Yes they’re all loud. And obtrusive. And overbearing. But dammit if I don’t love every single one of them to bits_ john thought as his friends mimicked kissy noises and had choruses of “Oh Sherlock! Oh John!” trying to imitate their voices, and giving him their backs as they moved their hands all over themselves.

…..

“What do you really want Mycroft? You know as much as I do that my ankle would’ve swelled significantly if it was fractured or broken. You’re not concerned about me”

“As always brother dear you are entirely wrong. I am concerned. I worry. Constantly.”

“I can take care of myself” Sherlock hissed between gritted teeth, narrowing his eyes.

Mycroft didn’t even bother answering and instead looked pointedly at Sherlock’s ankle and his fading bruise below his right eye. His eyes also lingered on a corner of Sherlock’s ribs as if he could plainly see the purple knuckle-shaped yellowing splotches. Sherlock dropped his eyes to his shuffling feet, his shoulders falling with shame.

“Sherlock… we both know this teenage… _infatuation_ ” he spat out the final word “Is foolish and has no chance to leading to any good.”

“Mycroft, if you have no noticed I could not care less what you think of me, or my…or John”

“Your what?” Mycroft deadpanned “Your belief that this… _John_ could possibly be interested in someone like you? Sherlock, you and I are not made to be with other people. We are surrounded in a world of goldfish. If I think _you’re_ slow I cannot begin to imagine how idiotic this John is. Terminate this before it becomes anything more.”

Sherlock stayed silent. Lying to Mycroft was out of the question. Although Sherlock always fancied himself to be far smarter than his older brother in the back of his mind he still had the memory of Mycroft teaching him to deduce and observe, and he knew that whichever way he tried to weasel himself out of this by lying would just make things worse for himself. Then again if he told Mycroft the truth and told him to piss off he would never leave him alone and there was a very large chance that he could go looking for john himself and put ideas in his head. He could make John not want to see him ever again, or perhaps to believe that Sherlock did not wish to pursue the relationship any further. Sherlock was trapped and he knew it, he looked into Mycroft steel dark eyes and sneered.

In the end no words were spoken by the younger brother but Mycroft could see the debate going on in his head and instantly knew the truth. “Ah… you’re already involved are you not brother dear? Wrong choice. What will mummy think? You know she dislikes the fact that we don’t fit into the ‘normal’ box constructed by society. What will she do when she finds out about your ah, boyfriend  hmm?”

Sherlock shrunk in his seat and cleared his throat, trying to summon the image of his John, always reassuring and radiating light and happiness. He knew that if john were here he would be furious, he would protect Sherlock to the ends of the earth and whatever happened Sherlock could not leave this car without in some way repaying John for everything that he had done for him, and that meant defying Mycroft and perhaps his entire family. 

“Listen to me Mycroft.” Sherlock hissed, straightening up in his seat ang glaring at his brother with every inch of force he had in himself. “I care a great deal about John Watson. And if you hurt him… better yet if you even so much as touch a hair on his head I will see to it that Mummy finds out about your affairs with politicians. Oh what would mummy think?” Sherlock imitated the nasal tone of his brothers voice “If she found out you do not fit into the ‘normal’ either and she found out about _your_ ah, sexual preference?”

Sherlock did not recall ever seeing his brother look this shocked or angered in his life. For once he seemed completely out of anything to say, which was rare since Mycroft Holmes always, ALWAYS had to have the punchline, the final word. As the seconds passed Mycroft’s brow furrowed and his face coloured and angry, blotched purple. Finally he cleared his throat and pressed a red button on the ceiling on the limousine. The car stopped almost immediately and Mycroft finally turned to look at his brother, who was looking smug and daring.

“Get. Out.” Mycroft snapped. Sherlock needed no more invitation to leave his snobby brother’s presence and he shuffled out of the seats and climbed out of the limousine into the street. He wasn’t quite sure where he was but he knew he’d have no problem finding his way home. Even angry, Mycroft wouldn’t leave him stranded with a sprained ankle; he was far too overprotective for that.

As Sherlock closed the sleek black door the window rolled down and Mycroft’s voice said in a monotonous tone “I will be keeping an eye out for this John Watson” and before Sherlock could respond angrily, the limo had driven off, the dark widow sliding shut.  

Sherlock stood in the dark streets putting all his weight on his non-injured ankle, scowling at the empty streets where the car had last been. He hissed out a breath and hoped to God it would not rain as he huddled up in John’s rugby jacket and went in search for a street sign or a coffee shop where he could get directions. _At least I won’t have to go to the doctor anymore_ he thought to himself, limping down the street _._  

 

****

****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading :):) as always comments and kudos are welcomed and appreciated  
> Update: Monday  
> Also if you wish to stalk me or ask me stuff here's my crappy tumblr:  
> iamsupernova12.tumblr.com


	15. Breaking in

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a pain to write but i'm happy with the final result :) (5571 words though.. daghh)  
> Anyway as always thank you soo much for reading and commenting and leaving kudos and aahhh i love you guys. <3<3  
> Next update will be Thursday :)

An entire weekend had passed by and Sherlock’s ankle had returned to its normal slender shape and pale colour. Sherlock was lying down on his bed on that Monday night stretching his feet and toes, making up for the lack of practice in the past week where he and John had still gone to ballet practice but to either play music for Molly or just to sit together and have John draw him as they spoke or Sherlock played the violin. John had, in the end, gotten quite good at drawing Sherlock’s wide range of expressions and had finally figured out how to draw his eyes. They were now a favourite of his to draw, even bringing out colour pencils a few days just to draw the galaxies and the oceans that resided in them.

He kept the drawing of Sherlock spread on the couch at the back of his sketchbook until one day in class it had fallen out and he and Sherlock had dove for it before Mrs. Hudson or Molly could see it, both their faces glowing scarlet. Mrs.Hudson had just raised an eyebrow, knowing better than to ask what the drawing was off before walking away. Since then John had kept at home inside one of his drawers, covered by his rough draft pages of his art project comic book, which he was still finding an ending to.

Sherlock smiled, thinking about John and wanting time to pass faster so he could see him again. But his smile faltered as he remembered last Thursday afternoon… what Mycroft had said worried him, he knew that if he told his mother about Mycroft’s secrets his brother would tell her about Sherlock’s too and right now he couldn’t deal with that. Not that his mother was homophobic... or at least Sherlock didn’t think so. Nevertheless, she would never allow John to come over ever again in fear that _the neighbours_ would find out about their relationship and the ‘Holmes reputation’ would crumble and burn into ashes. Sherlock did not wish to keep his relationship under wraps from his family, he meant it when he told John that he did get along with his parents and he wanted them to know him… the real him. He knew his father would not care and would most probably accept Sherlock instantly but the thought of his mother’s rejection hurt and Sherlock did not wish to be rejected by yet another person in his life, especially his mother.

Sherlock turned around in his bed to face his wall, he did not like to think about what would happen if John suddenly decided Sherlock was not worth the trouble. He had never felt so at ease with anyone and a big part of him knew that there was a possibility that he was falling very hard for John. Not that he could tell him right now, it was too soon. But there was a little voice in the back of his head that kept pestering him with the truth, that he has never felt this way about someone and somehow he knows that he never will again for anyone else.  

On an impulse Sherlock whipped around on his bed and snatched his mobile from the bedside table. He opened up a new text and typed out quickly, before he could regret what he was doing.

_[Sherlock] sent 11:00 PM_

_Are you busy? SH_

Less than a minute later his phone had already pinged with a response from John.

_[John] sent 11:00 PM_

_Free as a bird. You have something in mind? :)_

Sherlock sent John his impromptu plans for the evening and when his boyfriend answered Sherlock sprung up from his bed in search for his ballet clothing and his leather slippers.

 

Half an hour later Sherlock was sitting on the steps in front of the ballet building waiting anxiously for John. Technically he was a couple of minutes early but he still felt nervous, worrying whether John would make it and if Sherlock would have to sneak back into his house before his parents went to sleep. He had gotten lucky that neither of his parents had seen him sneak out through his window as he landed next to the one in the living room where father was reading an encyclopaedia and mummy was reading a novel right next to him, both of them facing the fireplace.

 

From the darkness Sherlock couldn’t see very far, the streetlights barely gave a slight yellow glow on the misty streets, but after just a couple of minutes he heard footsteps and just from the step pattern he was able to tell they were John’s. He raised his head, a smile automatically colouring his face as he saw John’s figure come forward through the shadows, one of his hand on the pockets of his grey hoodie and matching Sherlock’s smile with his own. “Hey you” he said. Sherlock could see that he was also carrying something on his other hand but from here he couldn’t quite distinguish what the rectangular shape was.

 

“Hello” Sherlock stood up as John trotted up the stairs, his trainers splashing on some puddles from the rain that had fallen that afternoon. “Are you carrying- is that... a picnic basket?”

“Yeah... I figured we could take a night picnic wherever it is you wanna go” John shrugged

 

“Just here, actually. Inside” he turned around, hiding the blush that had surged when John mentioned the picnic and started climbing the steps towards the massive glass doors. He turned to look at John briefly as this one started following.

 

“You want us to break into the ballet studios?” John raised a brow, but looked intrigued.

 

“Problem?”

“Not at all… oddly enough” John laughed.

When faced with the doors Sherlock held the lock in one of his hands and dug his other hand into his pocket, fishing out a paper clip and opening in with the help of his teeth. Once Sherlock had a solid long point he crouched and started fiddling with the lock and the paperclip, brows furrowed.

Watching Sherlock pick a lock should not be nearly as sexy as John found it but alas, here he was gaping at Sherlock as the lock clicked open after a couple of well measured turns of the solid wire. He turned to John with a smug smirk as he pushed the door open “Coming?”

John just grinned back at him and followed the dancer inside. The halls in the darkness were rather eerie compared to the light beauty John was so accustomed to seeing every time he walked in here. The silence was also offsetting. The thought that this place spent hours without a thousand different melodies streaming through the doors had honestly never occurred to John and now… standing in the middle of the silent darkness the massive building made him feel small and the silence charged the atmosphere between himself and Sherlock, who was staring at John curiously. “You’re very quiet. Are you alright?” he asked as he closed the door behind them, blocking out some of the light from the street and immersing them into even deeper darkness.

“Yeah… it’s just... kinda creepy when it’s all dark and quiet” John answered, shivering

“I know what you mean. The first time I broke in here the quiet dark freaked me out. The fact that I always come alone does not help” Sherlock grimaced

“So you… break in here often?” John wasn’t even surprised, more than anything he was just amused.

Sherlock shrugged “Only when I feel like I need more practice and I don’t have enough room in my house or Mycroft is pissing me off” he started off walking towards studio 129, holding out his hand behind him for John to hold. John happily complied and slid his fingers in between Sherlock’s.

Their footsteps rang around them, echoing and bouncing back from the plain white walls. When they reached the familiar door to studio 129 Sherlock opened it, it wasn’t locked, and flicked the light switch. The light was quite comforting and they gladly stepped inside

John knew he should’ve felt nervous to be breaking into a building after hours but honestly he felt completely at ease with Sherlock and excited with the adrenaline of being here alone with him.

“So… any particular reason you wanted to break in here tonight?” John murmured, raising himself up slightly to kiss Sherlock on the shadow under his sharp jaw.

Sherlock closed his eyes and lost his train of thought momentarily as John’s lips moved wetly and tenderly down his pale neck. His breath hitched and he tried to regain the pieces of his words. He could feel John’s smug smile growing against the skin of his collarbones but he wasn’t arsed to care at the moment.

 “I- uhhh…I-….I-Idon’tknowkissme”  he strung out and tipped down his head to capture John’s lips in a kiss, dragging his tongue across the protruding lower lip to deepen it.

John breathed out a laugh through his nose and held Sherlock’s hips tightly as he backed him up  towards the back mirrors. Once they reached them John slid his hands down his back and cupped his arse, raising up his legs until they were wrapped around John’s hips and he was able to sit on the wooden bar which cut down the massive mirror in half.

Their kiss tipped from hungry to desperate as their breaths hitched and sped. John ran his hands along Sherlock’s long back and into his soft hair and Sherlock in turn cupped john’s strong jaw in his long fingers, his thumbs stroking circles on his cheeks. As John moved his lips back to Sherlock’s neck, the latter let out a serious of high panting whimpers, his eyes were already shut but he squeezed them, unable to even consider opening them.

“Mmmm wait- J-Johhn...” Sherlock murmured against John’s hair, his thoughts tring their best to break through the lust lidded atmosphere. He _had_ sort of brought John here for a reason, and although right now it seemed completely banal he wanted to do this before.. before they did _this_.

“Hmm… yes?” John licked a stripe up Sherlock’s neck but stopped at Sherlock’s request, turning his dark flooded pupils up to look at the dancer in between his arms. His breath was harsh but he tried his best to seem composed as Sherlock visibly tried to recall what he was going to say as he carded his fingers through John’s hair.

“I wanted to …show you something” he murmured, a shy smile tugging at his lips.

“What is it love?”

Sherlock blushed at the endearment but didn’t respond as he carefully untangled himself from John’s strong arms and slid down to the floor, stumbling a bit as his knees felt weak. He straightened himself up and shook up his head, calming himself down. When he felt like he was composed enough he faced John and brought his left hand to the pocket of John’s rugby jacket and drew out a cassette labelled ‘B.R’.

He flashed John with a flirty grin before rapidly walking towards the stereo, turning it on and slipping the cassette inside. “Could you-?” he motioned towards the stereo with a waving hand as he positioned himself in the centre of the classroom, shrugging out of Johns jacket and throwing it into one of the nearby red cushion chairs.

Sherlock breathed deep and closed his eyes as John curiously went over to the stereo and positioned his finger on the play button, writing for Sherlock’s usual cue. As expected, Sherlock proceeded by nodding once.

Instantly the beginning choir of the Bohemian rhapsody  song flooded into the room and John’s face split into a delighted grin as Sherlock flashed him a flirty smile in his slow movements. The piano started very slow in the familiar piece as Freddy sang about killing a man and John could picture the movement Sherlock was doing perfectly in an ice rink. He was sliding on the floor with his footwork, his spins were measured and as the song momentarily gained momentum and one of the guitar solo’s strung out, the fact that Sherlock had choreographed this by himself in his mind was nothing short of extraordinary, especially as this was the first time he had danced after his injury. His movements were not strained at all and John could see the confidence building in the lean strong body.

 As the music changed he started making small jumps, falling on his pointed feet  one by one in rhythm with the staccato piano chords. The melody once again gained momentum and the faint sheath of sweat was visible on Sherlock’s brow but his movements held no hesitation or tremble. John had always been amazed by the many harmonies and the constant movement and rapidness of this particular song, something which Sherlock beautifully reflected in his dance.

The best part of the song came up, the loudest final section where all the instruments played at once, and Sherlock winked at him before pulling John into his arms and spinning him and dancing close to him “ _oooh babeh, can’t do this to me babeeh_ ” Sherlock sang to him and laughed as John gulped, unable to keep up with Sherlock’s movements. John’s grew dizzy from the closeness, from the spinning, from the music, from _Sherlock_.

Soon, it wasn’t ballet they were dancing anymore  (well Sherlock danced and John attempted) and they sunk into a slow dance in the final slowing melody “ _Nothing really matters, nothing really matters to me…”_ and John knew he hadn’t been the one dancing the entire song but his breath was harsh and his pupils enormous. “That was…. Truly amazing. I... You’re incredible. I can’t believe you did this for me”

Sherlock was breathless but he managed a wide happy smile as he answered “Thank you.” And added as an afterthought “You’re really an atrocious ballet dancer”

John laughed and playfully swatted Sherlock’s side with a light wave of his hand “I can do rugby… dance though? Not so much”

Sherlock beamed back at him before lowering his arms from around John’s neck and walking towards the stereo to take out the cassette. “Now where were we before this?” he purred, turning back to look at John and balancing himself on his forearms on the table where the stereo sat on.

The blonde winked “not so fast. I’d like to build up to it... Make it special. Our first time was basically impromptu fumbling on the couch. Not this time” he beamed at the reddening Sherlock and went over to the door where he had dropped the picnic basket with their rather enthusiastic make out when they’d arrived. He crouched down and picked it up, opening it and taking out several candles and a lighter.

“Candles, John. Really?” Sherlock chuckled

“Hey it took me forever to find them all and most I borrowed from Mike’s place so if he gives you suggestive looks just pretend you have no clue what he could possibly be referring to alright?”

Sherlock nodded, still unable to speak as John started setting up the candles around the room, lighting them one by one. They were all different shades, smells and sizes but the complemented each other perfectly and even with the lights on they provided an entire new atmosphere to the room. Sherlock, trying to find something to do went over to the door and when John looked up at him, switched the light of the classroom off. The change was instantaneous.

Sherlock had already known that John in dim light looked especially good, as was discovered the first time he came over when they were standing saying goodbye on Sherlock’s front porch. But he had never seen him the in the shadowy faint glow of the yellow fire. John’s easy smile was always beautiful but lit up by candlelight it looked ethereal and heart-stoppingly warm. Sherlock had to catch his breath and blink several times before he could speak and by then John was already sitting down on the floor setting up a small picnic on a laid down red table cloth.

“Coming?” John smiled encouragingly at him, toeing of his shoes and socks and motioning for Sherlock to do the same.

Sherlock licked his lips and went over, leaving his slippers next to John’s trainers and sat next to John. “So what’s on the menu for tonight?” he teased.

“You only gave me a 20 minute notice so all I could do was whip up a couple of sandwiches and some blue cheese to be accompanied with crackers. Hopefully they’re all right. It’s just ham and cheese but my sandwiches are pretty good if I do say so myself.” John was acting nonchalantly but Sherlock could tell he felt slightly anxious.

“They’re perfect John” he murmured

“You haven’t even tried them” the blonde laughed

Sherlock shrugged “I just know” he smiled and motioned towards the food “Pass the cheese?”

They talked and laughed in between bites. At one point Sherlock went over to the stereo and put on some slow soft music for background “More romantic” he had said, flashing a flirty wink at John and the latter had responded by drawing a bottle of champagne out of the basket “took it from my mom’s place last time I was there, didn’t know whether it would come in handy”.

John was, as ever, awed by Sherlock. But this time it was by how unbelievably easy it was to talk to him. Truly, texting was no means to determine how you really clicked with someone. He knew that he and Sherlock had fit together perfectly since the first day they spoke but now he could feel all his protective layers peeling in front of his very eyes and he could see Sherlock, all Sherlock, only Sherlock.

The dancer, in turn was amazed by how John defied everything he had ever learnt about people and how to attempt to interact with them. John didn’t get mad or scared or offended when Sherlock deduced or made honest comments, more often than not he would either praise his intelligence or laugh at his odd places statements, understanding that Sherlock didn’t mean to hurt or offend but was just observing and asserting facts. He was awed by how someone so kind, popular and attractive as John Watson, captain of the rugby team, had somehow fallen into his life and even more surprisingly, wanted and pursued Sherlock’s company and affections.

As the candles burned with the time they found that they had slowly drifted together, one of John’s hands had ended up on Sherlock’s thigh and the other on top of the dancer’s on the ground. They were facing each other, and had started dinner with their bodies some feet away from each other. Now, however, their faces were mere inches away from the others and their words had decreased to hushed intimate whispers.

When the glasses were empty there were no words spoken but just the coming together of their bodies in a silent acquiesce of _yes, now_. This time around there was no teasing, Sherlock immediately started shoving John’s hoodie up his stomach until the blonde was forced to separate the kiss to shrink out of it, taking the opportunity to take his shirt of as well.

Sherlock was sure that he would never tire of the strong hard body of John Watson, with all its protruding muscles in the arms and chest. He trailed his long fingers over the faint, thin golden hair at the centre and moved to roll his thumb over John’s left nipple.  John moaned very softly under his breath and brought his arms around Sherlock’s waist, flexing slightly, knowing the shiver it would entice out of Sherlock.    

Sherlock did shiver, and moan low in his throat as he brought his hands down to John’s zipped and drew it down, enjoying the sounds slicing through the air and covering the soft music and the sounds of their breaths entirely. He softly pushed John down until he was practically lying on the ground, only pushed up by his forearms. Sherlock came closer and pulled John’s jeans down slowly, his heart hammering at the slow reveal of John’s thick thighs and tan skin. The blue briefs John was wearing at the moment dragged down with the jeans and John raised himself up, pushing up his hips and legs accordingly so Sherlock could pull both garments down his body, thankful once again for the fact that they had both taken off their shoes before sitting down.

Sherlock’s body was buzzing with anticipation and the champagne flowing through his veins. He placed John’s jeans and briefs behind himself and turned back towards John, dragging his hands up his thick calf muscles, and kissing the inside of his thighs as he drew closer. His heart was thudding loudly, nervously as he looked up at John looking for confirmation that it was okay that he was doing this. And he found himself looking at a John that looked so unbelievably aroused it looked almost as if he was in pain, his chest heaving.

John felt like his heart was lodged in his throat painfully as he gazed over Sherlock staring at him timidly, blushing to the tips of his ears and balancing himself on John’s knees, looking almost eager. He gave a small not, the only thing he felt like he could manage doing without combusting in flames before the dancer.

Sherlock’s shyness melted into an eager grin and without further ado he bent down on John’s golden body and took him into his mouth in a single motion. John gasped in surprise, his hand flying up and lading on the wild mess of Sherlock curls and holding on tightly. Sherlock hummed in amusement at John’s extremely vocal reactions to every lap of his tongue and bob of his head. John looked down to look at him and regretted it instantly as he met Sherlock’s dark eyes under the curtain of his long lashes and groaned. “I-I’m not gonna last” he gasped out. Sherlock didn’t seem to mind at all as he tugged with his left hand at John’s testicles and did his best to cover as much length as he could with his mouth.

But then he changed his mind.

Sherlock reluctantly pulled off with a pop and crawled up John’s body, unable to restrain thrusting his hips up to get some friction on his straining erection as he went. “What’s wrong?” John gasped out.

“I don’t want you to come like that” Sherlock purred against John’s ear

John laughed breathlessly “Oh y-you don’t, don’t… you? How… then...ahhh.. would you suggest?”

“Inside me”

John was sure that if Sherlock hadn’t been looking away when he murmured those words John would’ve basically just come then and there instantaneously.

“Wh-”

“You brought supplies right?”

“How did you…?”

Sherlock swallowed John question with his lips, opening them and sliding his tongue in John’s plaint responding mouth. John moaned into the kiss, returning his hands to Sherlock’s hair and tugging. “One of us is wearing far too many clothes” he gasped out, figuring he didn’t really mind how Sherlock knew he had come prepared, more worried about getting Sherlock out of these tights.

Sherlock grinned in silent agreement and stood up, John almost growling at the missing contact. Sherlock met his eyes and started stripping before him, swaying to the rhythm of the soft music  that was still playing in the background. John wasn’t sure if the timed movements were coincidence or if Sherlock was effectively trying to put on a show but either way he liked the reveal of creamy skin to his eyes in the glow of the candlelight. He could picture dozens of drawing and paintings of Sherlock like this, sexy and trusting. Sherlock’s body truly was a work of art by itself, the lean curves, the angular features and the smooth perfect snow white skin.

The dancer lay back down on top of the blonde and started peppering his chest with kisses and John rolled them gently over until Sherlock was lying on his back with John on top of him. Sherlock was moaning lightly onto John’s open mouth as John ground against him, their cocks skimming wetly together. John reached down and covered his hand over both of them and stroked a couple of times with his left hand, eliciting a sharp hiss from Sherlock who had his eyes squeezed shut.

John wordlessly reached into the basket beside them and took out a small white bottle of lube he had purchased throughout the past week at the pharmacist and a single condom wrapper. He broke the kiss long enough to tear it open with his teeth, as he had read that it was better to put it on before the preparation, not that he had been obsessively researching how to do this to be prepared, obviously.

The sharp sound of the wrapper tearing brought Sherlock partly out of his trance and he tried to shake his head. When failing he raised his hand from John’s neck towards his teeth where he was still holding the wrapper, looking at Sherlock curiously. “N-no. Without it John” he took the condom out of his boyfriend’s mouth with trembling fingers and placed it on the floor beside them. He immediately returned his hand to the side of John’s dampening neck.

“Are you sure? It’s our first time and I…”

“You… hah.. you were tested after your last girlfriend… ahh…cheated on you.” Sherlock gasped out, trying and failing to thrust up against John’s thigh

“How- nevermind. Yes I was, I _am_ clean. I just... didn’t want to assume.” He carded a self-conscious hand through his hair.

Sherlock caught the hand in between his and brought it down to cup his own cheek “I want you John. Just you.” He whispered, his breath tingling against John’s sensitive palm.

John’s breath hitched and he fell back on Sherlock with a groan, curling his head up into the space between Sherlock neck and shoulder and kissing it lovingly.  Carefully he drew back into his knees and tried not to sob desperately at the sight of Sherlock literally spread out on the ground beneath him. He was looking up at John gasping for air, his lovely cheeks tinged pink and his eyes dark and wanting.

John swallowed hard and squeezed the bottle, coating the fingers of his right hand with lube and shifting closer towards Sherlock’s spread body.

He ducked his head again and started teasing Sherlock’s mouth open as the warmed up the gel in his hand with his fingers. At the first touch of John’s index finger circling his puckering hole Sherlock gave a jump as if he had been given an electric shock but relaxed as John decreased the speed of his movements and with his other hand tipped Sherlock’s chin up to recapture his lips, distracting him.

As gently as he could John started working Sherlock open with his finger, careful to slow down whenever Sherlock hissed in discomfort but to press insistently as to not overwhelm Sherlock with the wait. Soon enough he was able to insert his middle finger along his index, plunging both in and out of Sherlock and crooking them gently, trying not to moan at the sensual sight. Sherlock was mewling with every thrust of his fingers, his hands grasping desperately at any part of John’s body they could reach, needing to hold on to something.

After what felt like no time at all Sherlock was gasping John’s name and John was removing his slick fingers, his heart, if possible, beating even harder than before. John hadn’t succumbed to the primal need to touch himself during the time he was fingering Sherlock but his fringe was starting to stick to his forehead with sweat and his chest felt like it was on fire. He licked his lips as Sherlock nodded his permission for john to start and the blonde, with a deep breath took himself in hand and coated himself with more lube, hissing at the much needed touch.

He lined himself as perfectly as he could, considering his hands were trembling almost violently, to Sherlock’s body and leaned over him, placing his left hand beside Sherlock’s head to balance himself as he began pushing in. The velvet heat of Sherlock’s body giving way to John was almost as overwhelming as the guttural high whine Sherlock gave, once again clutching as John’s back and scratching him slightly in the process; not that John minded at all. “Are you alright?” John gasped out, watching Sherlock carefully in between both of his hands around his head.

Sherlock kept panting, a couple of high soft sounds escaping from his open mouth as he tried to formulate words. In the end he just opened his eyes full of emotion, their very depth and vulnerability made John’s stomach flip in warmth, and nodded. Sherlock raised his legs and wrapped them around John’s waist as he starting pushing again until his cock was fully enveloped in Sherlock’s body. _My god it’s tight._

John leaned down and pressed his lips to Sherlock’s in a desperate kiss and Sherlock did his best to respond, his every limb failing to match the speed of his racing heart. He tightened his legs around John, forcing him in deeper and urging him to start moving. John complied, moaning as he thrust into the wet heat of Sherlock.

He had been with people before, but never like this. It had never felt like he was completely connecting to a person in every level. For a moment he was like he and Sherlock were one; one single body, moving together like the raising tides in the ocean. In that one moment John _knew_ he wasn’t just falling in love, he knew he was already there. The thought of Sherlock and him separating was physically heart wrenching and John had to attach his lips to Sherlock’s neck in that moment or he was sure he would combust. “Mmmm…Sherlock”.

John bit and worried at the pale skin with his tongue, encouraged by Sherlock’s stream of blabbering words and high pitched moans of pleasure and he ground himself down on John’s cock. John understood the need for a faster speed and hitched his hips higher, snapping them forward. The slapping of flesh on flesh was positively overwhelming, even the music playing seemed to quiet down, in the presence of the gargantuan moment that was happening between them.

“J-Joohnn….ahhhh…ah ah ah” Sherlock had never felt so overwhelmed, so incapable of normal thought. But somehow this was not a bad thing. It felt like his head was at rest while the rest of his body was vibrating with pleasure. It was an entirely novel feeling for him and he was more that overjoyed at being able to bask in it, with so much John around him, with him, _inside_ him, pounding into him and taking up every pore of his body and skin and thought. He felt so protected and secure in between John’s strong arms. So cared for and dare he say… loved. He didn’t know how to hitch out the words from his lips and roll them from his tongue, he didn’t know how to communicate to John in that very moment that there was nothing and no one that could ever matter to him as much as John did.

Sherlock reached down and took himself in hand, stroking in time with John’s rapid thrusts. The heat coiling in his testicles was tightening and he had just enough time to gasp out John’s name before he was coming and his cock was shooting out strings of come into his chest and even reaching John’s own as he writhed against the floor, moaning. He held John tight against him, arching his neck to give John more room to kiss and suck.

That pretty much did it for John too and just a couple of thrust later he was following Sherlock’s lead and spilling into his tight body, grunting against the bruised skin of Sherlock’s collarbones and grunting out his release low in his throat.

They lay there for minutes in the aftermath, just breathing each other in and attempting to fully process what had happened. The first one to move in the end was John, slipping out of Sherlock wetly with oversensitivity and followed closely by a dribble of his own come weeping out of Sherlock’s arse. John moaned at the sight, closing his eyes for a moment.

Sherlock didn’t have strength enough to process what he was about to say but the words slipped out anyway “I’m yours now.”

John turned to look at him, with eyes so soft and so full of some unnamed deep emotion and lowered himself back to cover Sherlock’s naked body beneath him. “Yes. But that means I’m yours too”. A smile so innocent and so pure broke over Sherlock’s face and John wrapped his arms under Sherlock, rolling them onto their sides so they would be more comfortable, facing each other and brushing their lips gently together. They stared at each other in comfortable silence, easy smiles colouring their faces and hands sliding over each other’s bodies everywhere.

_I love you_

_I love you_

_I love you_

_I love you_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading :)) this was an unplanned chapter but I enjoyed writing it <3<3  
> Check out my crappy tumblr:  
> [iamsupernova12](http://www.iamsupernova12.tumblr.com)


	16. Results

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY I know i promised an earlier update but im on holiday and I dont get 5 minutes to myself so I havent been able to write much.  
> Next update might take about a week but I will find time to write :))  
> Thank you so much for reading <333333

Sherlock didn’t notice he was falling asleep in John’s arms until the latter murmured something in Sherlock’s ear he didn’t process at all and had to mumble a sleepy “wha-wasssat?”

John laughed quietly under him, Sherlock enjoying the hum of John’s vibrating chest against his ear. “I said it’s getting cold. You’re shivering” he wrapped hs arms tighter around Sherlock’s thin figure, trying to shield him from the cold night air. The table cloth was all bunched up and thrown far from them in their past haste to get their clothes off of each other.

 _Am I?_ The dancer frowned, he hadn’t actually realised that he was shivering at all but now that he thought about it… it _was_ getting a bit chilli. “Alright” he shifted sleepily away as John sat up, carding a hand through his hair and shaking it up a bit to get rid of the cowlicks from lying on the ground. He sighed contentedly and reached for his shirt, sliding it on over his head and tugging it down.

Sherlock was most definitely less fond of seeing John dress than strip down but he enjoyed watching him anyway as he stood up and slid on his underwear and jeans. John spared Sherlock an amused smirk. “Are you watching me get dressed?” he teased.

“Perhaps… you really do have to invite me to one of your rugby games soon” He looked up and down the blonde’s figure appreciatively.

“Pervert” John laughed, grabbing Sherlock’s shirt and throwing it at his face. Sherlock huffed in mock-offense and shrugged on the shirt, marvelling at how better it felt on his bare skin than the cold wooden floors.

The candles had significantly diminished their light so when they were done re-dressing John figured they should start packing everything up. He was just about to go and turn on the slight from the studio when the sound of the building’s front door slamming open resounded loudly and they froze in place to listen.

“This is the police! We know you’re there! You can’t break in here, it’s a private building!”

Sherlock and John whirled their heads around to stare at each other wide eyes. Sherlock’s gaze flicked rapidly to the picnic basket and John zoomed to start snatching everything they could into it, bundling the soiled table cloth into the basket as Sherlock blew out all the remaining candles one by one. “There’s no time” Sherlock hissed, annoyed, once he’d finished with the candles “Come on!” He snatched John’s hand and tugged harshly, causing John to stumble a bit as they went over to the door.

Sherlock peeked through the door, checking if they would be seen “They’re checking out the front studio rooms for trespassers.” He whispered and tugged at Johns hand again, urging him to follow as he quickly sprinted from the room into studio 128 across the hall. John grimaced as his trainers squeaked against the floor. Sherlock snapped his head towards him, eyes huge and nervous. “shhhhhhhhh”

“It’s not like I did that on purpose” John hissed back

“It doesn’t matter” But before John could reiterate, Sherlock ran to the other side of the room, followed closely by the blonde. The room looked like a mirror image from studio 129 except for the fact that the back wall was not completely covered in a mirror, a section at the very right had a cabinet covering the normal white painted cement wall and a small window was perched over it.

The sound of the cops was getting louder, the must have heard the screech of the rubber sole against the wood and decided to dismiss the front studios from inspection for the break-ins.

Sherlock quietly let go of John’s hand and grabbed one of the chairs, lifting it up and bringing it over in front of the cabinet. “We can get out through here, just boost me up and then ill tug you up from the ledge” Sherlock whispered

John nodded going over to Sherlock and once the dancer was standing on the chair he placed his hands as a ledge for Sherlock to balance on and pushed him towards the window. Sherlock was able to grab the top of the cabinet and he pulled himself up with a grunt.

“Are you alright?” John asked nervously

“Yeah, come on now you”

“Take this first” John raised the basket above his head as high as he could go. Sherlock took hold of the window ledge and stretched down, trying to reach the top handle of the basket, his face scrunching in effort. John threw it up a bit in the air and Sherlock snatched it “come on John come on!” his eyes kept flicking towards the door and his brow creased in worry that the cops would walk in any second. Mycroft would most definitely not be impressed with this and Sherlock would just rather avoid that entire conversation and keep his boyfriend out of trouble.  

John climbed on top of the chair and jumped towards Sherlock’s stretched out hands, pulling himself up and holding himself up to the cabinet. John could see through the crack of the door white lights from the flashlights of the police.

“We know you’re here kids! We received noise complaints!” a harsh deep voice called out..

A snicker rose up in Sherlock’s throat and the same time that John blushed scarlett. “I hope they meant the music” John giggled as quietly as he could as Sherlock pushed the window to open more, sniggering under his breath, unable to help it.

“Oh John I think the words ‘Fuck me harder’ cant be interpreted as a symphony”

John laughed louder than he intended, slapping a hand to his own mouth to attempt to muffle it.

The footsteps came closer and John nudges at Sherlock, panicking. Sherlock shuffled away and started kicking the window until it opened fully with a screech.

“Shitshitshit Jump!” John urged when the door to the studio slammed open

“Stay right there! Don’t move!”

Sherlock jumped and was followed by John. John had never been more thankful that the studio was situated on the first floor of the building as the easily landed on some bushes below the window. “Come on come on before they come around” Sherlock hissed, bringing himself up and extending a hand to John. John took it and they ran away together as fast as their feet would carry them; laughing into the dark streets and not letting go.

…The next day….

John arrived to the ballet studio in a…. not so good mood. Although  pretty much everything in his life had changed in the past month one had definitely not… the damn rain. It had gotten so bad during practice that they were barely able to see each other, let alone where the far away players stood on the field to make a proper pass or carry on a proper game with instructions and tactics. Coach Moran, this time around, had decided to watch them practice through the window of the staff room, under his ceiling and with his A/C to keep him warm.

The captain knew that games were coming up for them, important games. And yes he did worry about it which is why he tried to push his team to practice even in this foul weather. What he did not appreciate was the “coach” spending the last 20 minutes of practice yelling at them under a massive umbrella  for them to ‘get their act together or he would get rid of everyone on their team and find a new one’. John needed to be the captain. The only reason he was in this school was due to his rugby scholarship and if he lost it… he didn’t know what he would do. And naturally as soon as practice was over and he was half way down to the studios the rain had stopped. He needed the money he was saving to pay for college and if he didn’t get the scholarship he would have to join the army, something he wanted to do anyway but he wanted to do it for himself not because he absolutely needed to. In his mind the idea of joining the army was a constant, something he’d relied on when things got bad at home with his mother or sister. In the army he knew he wouldn’t have to worry about the future, just the now. He could get out of the monotony that was everyday life and make something out of himself, help people… but if he did get the scholarship… maybe he could stay. Or if he did go at least John knew it would be on his own terms.  

Sherlock was something else he was constantly worrying about. His boyfriend who today would find out whether he got the part as Romeo on the play or not. He knew Sherlock wanted this, yearned for this, even when he acted like it was no big deal. He always tried to avoid the subject whenever John brought it up but John could tell it mattered to Sherlock. It mattered a lot.

John sighed to himself in frustration and nerves. He hadn’t seen any other audition other than Sherlock’s but he knew for a fact that no one else had fallen on theirs and whether he wanted to face it or not…. That put Sherlock in a very delicate position. He resolved to just wish for the best and try to cover up his emotions that no doubt Sherlock would be able to read off of his face in a second.

The buzz of tension was palpable from the second he walked into the building. A massive crowd of dancers were all pushing and pressing against each other in a circle around the bulletin board at the very back of the building. A man, who John supposed was the main judge or the director of the academy was in the midst of the crowd, looking panicked and claustrophobic as the mass of people pushed him closer to the board.

John was so focused on trying to find his boyfriend in the middle of the crowd he did not notice when Molly materialized next to him. “Enthusiastic aren’t they?” she laughed, nodding towards the dancers.

John jumped in surprise before turning to molly with a grin “Yeah I bet… Don’t they see being the first to know won’t actually change threw outcome of the results?”

Molly stared at him for a moment intently “That sounded just like Sherlock speaking out of your mouth” she started laughing

 _I guess it did_ John thought now that he looked back on it. He grinned “I guess it’s true people in relationships start becoming alike then”

“Well not entirely… he _is_ sort of in the middle of _that_ ” she motioned towards the chaos that was the moving group of dancers, practically tearing the folder out of the director’s hand as he tried to place it on the board, his eyes wide with fear.

“Ahh…” John grimaced slightly. Wishing the results hadn’t come for another week.. or ever. He had a bad feeling in his gut about this. He couldn’t see Sherlock in there but there was no doubt in his mind that the hardest of the pushing was most certainly his doing.

“It’ll be alright John… “She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, trying to soothe him.

John nodded, not really believing her but wanting to desperately.

Finally the poor director was able to lunge himself free of the mass, stumbling out and the crowd swarmed to cover the spot he had left free. He straightened his tie promptly, and combed his hair with both hands as the screams of indignation and the whoops of celebration began amongst the dancers. He made a quick look around to make sure no one had seen the scene and Molly and John politely pretended they were talking to each other as he walked towards his office.

“Don’t you wanna know if you got the part Molly?” he asked her curious as to what she was doing here and not there with the rest of the dancers.

She shrugged “I’ll find out sooner or later. I’d just rather not get my hair ripped from my skull in there.” she laughed.

John nodded, understanding immediately as the crowds became only louder, several people ripping out of it looking either devastated or ecstatic. He only had to look back for a second before he saw Sherlock walking out of the crowd, his face set and stoic. He barely gave John a glace to acknowledge his presence before he stormed into studio 129, shoulders hunched. That was when the loud, enthusiastic choruses of “Carl, Carl, Carl, Carl!” began and the kid he supposed had to be Carl was walking out of the circle of people, arms raised above his head and his face split into a happy grin.

Carl hadn’t even changed yet. He had obviously arrived to class and had been one of the first to begin the crowd of people waiting for the results as he was dressed in completely casual clothing. His jeans and black t-shirt were obviously expensive and new and he was wearing a gorgeous pair of a retro-Nike model, pristine clean and white. He didn’t move far from the group as many dancers moved over to give him high fives and congratulatory hugs along with choruses of “Oh Romeo! My Romeo!”

_Oh no… Oh Sherlock…_

John shot Molly an anguished look and started to follow him to the studio, he was so distracted he walked into Jim Moriarty who was also positively fuming. So much he didn’t even spare John a glance before walking away. John didn’t turn to see where, he wasn’t even in the mood to be relieved that at least Moriarty didn’t get the part either, he just cared about Sherlock.

He sprinted into the room as fast as he could, but stopped as he caught sight of Sherlock curled up on John’s usual spot on the floor. Head tucked under both his arms, which were resting on his knees.

“Oh love...” John murmured as he came to sit down next to him. “It’s gonna be alright.” John half expected Sherlock to snap out at him to leave him alone, that he knew things were gonna be fine, that he didn’t need John here and he was perfectly fine and didn’t care. But Sherlock didn’t move, he made no sign that he was even aware that john was here and the blonde just let out a shaky breath of air, almost _wanting_ Sherlock to snap to do something. He rested his own back against the chair next to Sherlock and was surprised when the dancer slumped his body into John’s.

John threw his arms around him, snuggling him and murmuring encouragements in his ear… How this wasn’t Sherlock’s big break, how he was the best dancer here and big things were coming for him. John didn’t even have to lie. Sherlock dancing was simply the most amazing and beautiful thing he had ever seen, and he knew that if it hadn’t been for Moriarty the rest of the dancers would be cheering for him right now.

After a couple of minutes Sherlock sighed and lowered his hands from his face. He wasn’t crying. There weren’t any streaks of tears on his cheeks and he wasn’t red. He just looked exhausted and disappointed. But just the very lack of anger was what worried John. He was so used to seeing Sherlock moving everywhere, full of energy and talking at lightning fast speed that this quiet, stilled Sherlock put him on edge.

Sherlock stood up, visibly shaking off his bad mood and turned back to John a tight smile on his lips. John returned one weakly and took the offered hand, raising himself up “You wanna get out of here?” he smiled, trying his best to look more positive.

The dancer nodded “Its fine John. I know it’s gonna be fine. I’m just- disappointed I guess. I knew I wouldn’t get it but... one does wish one is wrong sometimes”. He took a deep breath a visibly straightened himself up, trying to appear more in control of himself.

Just then Molly walked into the room, looking conflicted. She stopped at the doorway, feet shifting uncomfortably, as if debating whether or not she was welcome or wanted in the room.

“Molly, congratulations on getting the role of Juliet” Sherlock nodded at her, the sadness still seeping into his tone but his congratulations completely ringing with sincerity and happiness for her.  

Molly smiled, her posture relaxing into one of relief “thank you Sher… I’m sorry you- not that you needed to.. but I-“

“Its fine molly” Sherlock reached out and took John’s hand, intertwining his finger into his. “I’m just gonna head home today. I don’t feel like practicing much”

Molly nodded “I understand… I don’t think Mrs. Hudson came to class today anyway” then she looked around them room, looking puzzled “What’s with all these melted candles?”

John’s eyes widened in shock, his body going static “I…I have _no_ idea”. He had completely forgotten about the candles they had left here yesterday after their…. Activities were interrupted.

Sherlock blushed and cleared his throat, his expression going from attempting-nonchalance to mortified in one second “No me neither… I uhh should we get going John. Maybe… take the candles and find out who their owner is?”

“Yes. Absolutely. That seems like the right thing to do” John agreed, nodding fervently.

Molly was now definitely looking suspiciously between the two of them. Both of whom were pointedly avoiding her gaze. She had opened her mouth to ask something else when a loud, screeching scream of agony came from down the hall.

John snapped his head up towards the sound. “What was-”

Another screech tore through the air, followed by a flurry of running feet and more screams. Some voices panicked, some shouting for held and one shrieking…the same one as before. It was a male. He sounded as if he was being held to torture, his voice screeching and slicing through the air.

The three of them, snapped their heads around as Molly’s eyes widened in panic. “That sounded…. It can’t be” she sprinted towards the door, closely followed by John and Sherlock and stepped outside to see what was going on.

There was a crowd of people forming outside of one of the studios at the front of the building.

They all quickly jogged towards the source of the screaming. The director was at the front of the classroom trying to calm everyone down and shielding the view from what was going on on the inside of the room. His face was completely panicked, he clearly had no idea what to do with the situation, or if he even was aware of what the situation actually was.

The cries of agony had stopped as abruptly as they’d begun. Below the directors arm John could see a figure laying on the centre of the room, static, unmoving. It was a male, dressed fully ballet attire with his changing bag beside him, half opened and a black tshirt half tucked in. _it cant be… Carl._ John’s eyes widened in shock.

Sherlock pushed the directors arm away and walked purposively into the room, John followed him along with a dozen of other students fighting to see what was happening before the director could stop them in time. The director stared after him for a moment, debating himself whether he should call him back but letting him pass after a moment’s hesitation, his dark brown eyes were wide and afraid.

Sherlock kneeled down next to the unconscious body of Carl. He started inspecting him, leaning over him and smelling his shirt, lifting it up slightly and then standing up and circling him slowly with small measured paces.

No one was talking, clearly they were all aware of Sherlock’s work with the police or his deductions or they were too shocked by the sight to say anything. After a minute or two Sherlock snapped his head up, “Where are his shoes?” he asked.

“His what?” the director exclaimed, his eyes wide. “A boy just had a fit. We don’t know what killed him and you ask about his bloody shoes??” his voice was rising, the shout triggering everyone to start yelling their opinions and cries of anguish. “Someone call 911!” “He’s dead Oh my god he’s dead!”

John ducked underneath the arms of the people in front of him and joined Sherlock next to Carl’s body, inspecting his body. He was ice cold and paralysed. He definitely looked dead. _Oh my God… what on earth happened here._

He tipped his chin and turned his face around, but found nothing. He placed his fingers on the pulse point, expecting to feel nothing and the anxiety building up in his chest. He felt nothing. There was nothing. He pressed harder, his brow furrowing. _Come on… come on.. please._

A soft thudding was felt, faint but present and John’s heart leap as he stood up as quickly as he could “SHUT UP”

Silence fell once again. He turned to Sherlock “Call an ambulance. This boy is still alive”

…

The next half an hour was a flurry of chaos. His body was carefully carried to the entrance, people were crying and shivering, the ambulance arrived and they were hoisting his body up on a white bed. The moment when his pulse was lost was clearly heard as he was plugged into a machine and the beeping stopped.

The voices of the doctors calling “Clear. Clear” where almost a heart wrenching as the shocks they pressed into Carl’s unresponsive body, his shape jumping up and crashing back down onto the bed with a loud thud every time. John was standing next to the scene unable to watch until the pulse restarted. “We got him back. We got him. Put him up on the ambulance!”.

As the paramedics where raising the bed up on the ambulance and the director climbed up with them, looking pale and afraid, John let out a relieved breath and turned to look at Sherlock, he was staring at the distance looking troubled. “What is it?”

Sherlock motioned for John to follow him inside and together they pushed through the mass of the crowd around them. Once they arrived to the relative silence of the inside of the building Sherlock turned to John “He was poisoned…. They took his ballet slippers. This wasn’t a fit. If you hadn’t been here… if you hadn’t seen he was alive.” He shook his head, looking at the ground in guilt, his shoulders shaking with shock.

“Sherlock this wasn’t your fault.”

“To HELL it wasn’t” Victor’s voice boomed out from one of the studios and he walked out, glaring accusingly at Sherlock. “I think YOU did this on purpose. I think you tried to kill Carl”

“What?!” Sherlock  whirled his head towards him, his eyes were reddened at the corners and his brow was creased in confusion.

“Oh so you CONVENIENTLY didn’t notice the boy was alive? You ‘see everything’ as you always tell us but not this time… When the very same boy who got the part you wanted almost gets killed moments after he was cast? It all just seems too convenient.” He came to stand in front of Sherlock, glaring at him with dark eyes and imposing himself on Sherlock’s space.

“He was POISONED Victor! His pulse was imperceptible from view only, john checked his pulse tightly and that’s how he knew! I didn’t poison anyone!” Sherlock looked up at Victor in distaste.

The fight had now gathered spectators, trembling dancers who clearly had no idea what side to root for. They were shifting their gazes from Victor to Sherlock, eyes wide with fear and confusion.

“Oh were you not the one that just last week said yourself you would ‘do anything to get this part’? Seems to me like you would.” He spat at him “You’re nothing but a freaky PSYCOPATHIC MURDERER. You TRIED TO KILL CARL”

“I DIDN’T. WHOEVER DID TOOK HIS SHOES”

“YOU AND THE BLOODY SHOES! ADMIT IT. YOU TRIED TO KILL HIM”

Whispers were ringing along the crowd, buzzing in the air. John could hear some agreeing to Victor’s claims. Discussing Sherlock’s freakish nature, and blaming him for murder.

What bothered John the most of all was the fact that Sherlock didn’t even look as affronted or offended as he should have, sure he looked angry but not as much as he should have looked. John could not even begin to image the mount of people that called him freak or worse to his face without second thought. Without even the consideration or realization that Sherlock was human too, he had feelings and such a big heart. Sherlock looked so accustomed to having people harass him, something john had noticed when he had pulled him away from Anderson and his idiotic-friends, but he hadn’t realized it was to this extreme extent.

Victor was still glaring at Sherlock accusingly and Sherlock was frowning right back at him, saying nothing at all. The whispers hadn’t stopped around them and John simply had to put a stop to this.

“Bloody FREAK” Victor snapped

 _That’s it._ John steeled himself and shoved victor back with a single rough push into a corner. “Don’t you dare talk about him like that. How dare ALL of you talk about him like that. If it weren’t for Sherlock the paramedics wouldn’t have known he was poisoned in time. If anything Sherlock saved him and you’re all here ACCUSING HIM.” He glared at the crowd, many of which turned to look at the ground in guilt as the whispers faded. “He couldn’t have done ANY of it. He was with me the whole time.”

“And YOU” john came dangerously close to Victor. Even if Victor was at least two heads shorter than him John’s palpable anger was enough to crowd him into a corner. “Don’t you DARE call my boyfriend a freak or a psychopath or ANYTHING else ever again.”

“Or what?” Victor tried to snap but his voice faltered

“Or ill break every bone in your body. Twice.”

“You’ll regret this blondie. You disgust me, defending this. Abomination.” He looked Sherlock dead in the eye as he narrowed his eyes and spat “This horrendous freak of nature”

“THAT’S IT” John lunged himself at Victor, tackling him with ease and pushing him onto the floor before backing up his fist. Victor kicked him in the stomach as they fell and John’s breath huffed out, but he got hold of one of Victor’s hands and he punched him only once as hard as he could on the nose, stopping after a single sickening crush resounded and Victor shouted in pain.

John stood up, nobody was moving around him they were all frozen in place staring at the angry Victor holding his nose with one hand and growling at John furiously “YOU BROKE MY BLOODY NOSE”. The blonde looked to one of the dancers surrounding them and told her to call the nurse “he broke his nose”, before he turned to Sherlock, taking his hand and leading him out of the staring crowd into safety.

…

It was hard to believe that in less than an hour a boy had almost died, Sherlock had been accused of murder and John had broken someone’s nose. Victor had been taken to the nurses office and bit by bit the crowd of shifting dancers that had formed in the hallway of the first floor of the ballet studio had dissipated, into either their own classrooms or they had gone home. This had all taken a close minutes before the hour was up.

Now Sherlock, John and Molly had migrated back to the safe four walls for studio 129 and were inside quietly. John had quickly turned to envelop Sherlock in a hug, Molly had, after offering John a high-five and Sherlock a hug, walked straight for the red cushioned chairs at the back of the room and was curled up in one, staring at the distance, clearly shocked by everything that had happened. And Sherlock was returning john’s embrace, silently thanking him and tucking his head in the side of the blonde’s warm neck.

“I’m so sorry I lost it back there” John murmured

“Are you kidding? That was the single most arousing thing I’ve ever seen in my life. I wish I’d taped it” Sherlock whispered in his ear, to which john huffed a laugh.

Suddenly they heard footsteps approaching and Mike walked into the studio a grin across his face and a couple of pink roses were held tightly in his hand. “Hey Mo- what on earth happened here?” he was looking around at the three of them, his grin faltering and melting into a look of concern. All of which had the same gloomy shocked looks on their faces.  They were quite a sight, john still had his arms protectively around Sherlock, they had only tightened as the footsteps approached and Sherlock had been whispering something in his ear but was now staring at Mike, an eyebrow raised in questioning.

Molly stood up from her spot on the floor and went over to Mike, and gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek.

Mike blushed and turned to smile at her momentarily forgetting his previous question. But then he got another careful look around the room and his face grew even more puzzled. “Are- are those my candles???”

That startled a laugh out of Sherlock and John, the tense atmosphere cracking at least a little bit and light slipping in.

“I KNEW IT!” Molly snapped around, pointing an accusing finger at them and a smile growing slowly in her face, it was a relief to see molly smiling again. “I knew it I knew it I knew it!” she started jumping up and down, excitedly.

John and Sherlock turned to look at each other “We have no idea what you’re talking about Molly” Sherlock said, attempting to look serious as he tugged John away from the room as fast as he could, the flush creeping up his neck with every step.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At least Mike got his candles back? <33


	17. Ballet shoes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again so so sorry for the hiatus. Im still on holiday and havent found much time to write. I finished the chapter though *pumps fist in air* and managed to start the next one. Update might take about a week again though-- the summer heat is getting to me haha  
> Thank you so much for reading though <3<3<3<3 and im so sorry for taking so long to write-

****

Funny how the sole couple of times John and Sherlock had engaged in sexual activities had been in either the couch or the ground but they had somehow never made it into a proper bed. After the disaster that was the Tuesday casting afternoon John had brought Sherlock home, decided to make him feel loved and important after all the hate that he had been exposed to. To make him forget about the stupid play, and stupid Victor, and the dancers around them and whoever had harmed Carl. There was a small voice in the back of his mind that was secretly glad that in the end Sherlock had not gotten the lead role as Romeo as the poisoning _did_ seem as an act of revenge for getting the part and he had no doubt in his mind that if Sherlock had gotten it it would’ve been him in the hospital recovering… or worse.     

John took the dancer to his bed and stripped him from his ballet attire as gently and as lovingly as he could, murmuring soft words against his cream pale skin and alongside his rose pink parted lips. Sherlock had gasped and moaned as John stroked and licked him, and had done his best to communicate to John how amazing he was in turn but John wanted this time to be about Sherlock, just Sherlock. There was no rush, it was just the two of them revelling in each other’s presence and touch. Both of them holding each other tightly in reassurance that the other was still there, lovingly comforting and present.

 And when it was done and they were gasping into each other’s mouths and pressing their foreheads together, taking in the scent of sex and each other’s skin, the past day seemed to flit away around them, completely forgotten and irrelevant. Sherlock was suspecting he would never get used to the feeling of his brain shutting off whenever he was with John like this, but he was okay with that. He felt grounded and secure.

Eventually they migrated onto the couch and had take-away delivered, John had to put on at least some crinkly boxers to pick up the Chinese as Sherlock refused to put on clothes and opted to instead stay wrapped up in a sheet, not that John really had any problem with that. He was a firm believer that Sherlock should never wear clothes ever again when around him.

“Are you falling asleep on the couch?” John laughed as he caught sight of Sherlock curled up on his side, sheet tucked all around him and a single long bare foot peeking out of the end. His eyes were closed and he looked utterly peaceful, something John rarely got to see from the hurricane that was always awake Sherlock Holmes. The only way John could tell that he was not actually asleep was by his uneven breathing and the curling and uncurling of his pointy toes, perhaps a reflex from all the ballet stretches he was constantly doing.

“Mmnoo” Sherlock slurred out, his pouting lips barely parting open to respond in a single breathy exhale.

John snorted and came closer towards the couch, placing the Chinese take-out on the side table and raising up Sherlock’s cocooned legs to place them on his lap carefully. Sherlock grumbled and raised himself clumsily as to turn himself around and lay his head down on John’s lap, pressing his face against John’s warm flat stomach. John hummed in amusement and carded his fingers through Sherlock’s silky curls, secretly relishing in the way they tangled on his fingertips and bounced back into coils after John’s hand passed through them.

“The food’s gonna get cold” John murmured quietly, not too keen on standing up and separating himself from Sherlock but unable to completely ignore the sounds of his stomach grumbling in protest in the background.

Sherlock sighed and stretched his body “I need to think. Eating will only slow me down” he said, burrowing his face closer to John and inhaling his musky scent greedily. John always smelled like rain and tea but now he also had the underlying smell of sweat and sex and Sherlock loved it. John should never wear shirts again.

“You’re half- asleep, and no good thinking comes from being half asleep. You’ll just forget everything” he smiled at the sleepy Sherlock, who was frowning slightly in concentration

“I never forget things…. Unless I delete them”

“You can delete memories?” John’s eyebrows rose in surprise, more at the fact that Sherlock kept surprising him every day even when John knew to expect the unexpected around him.  

“Memories, facts, people, deductions…”

John was astounded. He had no idea something like this was even possible. Let alone the fact that Sherlock sounded like it was something he did constantly. He wondered if Sherlock had ever deleted anything about him but decided against asking him about it, unsure if he wanted to know the answer to that. He smoothed a thumb down Sherlock’s cheek instead, liking the peaceful expression that held Sherlock on the brink of sleep.

John considered letting him sleep for a couple of hours but the thought that Sherlock hadn’t eaten since before ballet practice (that’s if he _had_ eaten at all before that) knotted his stomach in worry. It had been a rough day and John wasn’t fooled into thinking that just because whoever tried to murder Carl didn’t succeed it meant everything was going to be alright. He also wasn’t fooled into thinking Sherlock was perfectly alright with what had happened today. Even before the entire confrontation with Victor he had felt guilt over not noticing the fact that Carl had been alive and John was the one that had noticed. It felt as if a can of worms had opened and this was just the beginning. Whoever had done this wouldn’t stop and they were still out there, possibly thinking about their next move.

Sherlock was thinking along the same lines, of course he had moved on from the basics around 20 minutes ago when he first laid down. Sherlock brought his hands below his chin and relaxed into John’s lap preparing to go into his mind palace and explore the memory of the entire incident in excruciating detail.

 “Aren’t you starving?” John asked, unable to stop himself from worrying.

If anyone else had interrupted Sherlock in the middle of a thinking hour he perhaps would’ve snapped, or ignored them or even begun a sulking tantrum. But John sounded so troubled, so protective Sherlock could not help but open his eyes and let out an amused snort. “I don’t need to eat John. I’m perfectly capable of not eating for days if it’s required of me”

John’s eyes widened “Sherlock you can’t do that! No wonder you’re so thin!” he scrambled out of the couch, Sherlock’s head flopping down against the cushions at the lack of John’s lap with an indignant squawk. John reached for the bad of takeout and as Sherlock grumpily raised himself into a sitting position he passed one of the white paper boxes to him. “Eat.” He looked at the dancer pointedly, his gaze unwavering over Sherlock’s stubborn clear grey eyes.

Sherlock grumbled something that suspiciously sounded like “If I get fat like Mycroft I’m blaming you” and reached for the fork that came with the Chinese food. Although Sherlock had made quite a big deal of not having even the slightest temptation whatsoever with the food once he stated eating he visibly delved into it with enthusiasm, licking his plump pink lips and taking big bites. John smirked but said nothing as he picked up his own plate and tucked into it.

Companionable silence surrounded them and John felt the tension of the evening melt away and Sherlock leaned into his side, chewing the crunchy chicken and sighing in pleasure. Soon enough John’s eyelids began to feel heavy and he placed his unfinished food on the side table, above one of his many sketchbooks that he kept laying around his flat. He snuggled closer to Sherlock and rested his head on the wall behind the couch, closing his eyes and feeling the warmth of Sherlock’s body ease through his thin sheet and into his own bare chest.  That man surely was confident with his own body to be just lounging around in a thin white sheet, not that John blamed him. Sherlock was absolutely stunning, in clothing and without _especially without_ thought John, smirking.

“Whaf are you smirfing afout?” huffed Sherlock, around an especially big mouthful of chicken, impatient and leaning closer into John’s bare chest. The sheet was slipping from his shoulders but he did not really care, he liked the way John’s mouth seemed to water whenever he was shirtless around him.

John huffed a laugh, the vibration seeping into Sherlock’s bare back. “Nothing really… just how I can see myself spending the rest of my life just like this with you”

Sherlock’s relaxed body tensed over John’s. He swallowed hard, his spine frozen in place.

“You- but I thought… what?”

John opened his eyes. _Oh my god we haven’t even said…the words to each other and I just basically confessed I want to spend the rest of my life with him. What the hell is wrong with me??_

“Oh god Sherlock…I freaked you out didn’t I? I just meant-”

Sherlock shook his head, his curls bounding around his head as soon as John began apologising “..No you didn’t- it’s just… You’re-…. You’re”

“I’m- what? What’s wrong?” John shifted under Sherlock’s frozen body, wanting to see his face. Sherlock felt the movement and peeled off of John’s chest, placing his plate on the table in front of the couch and turning his body as John sat up behind him. Suddenly Sherlock didn’t feel quite as comfortable as he had.  He pulled up the sheet back around his shoulders and met John’s worried gaze with his own resigned one. John frowned at the movement of the sheet covering up Sherlock’s shoulders in concern. “What is it, love? Too… too much?” he raised a hand and cupped Sherlock’s cheek, stroking a thumb over the pointy cheekbone under his hand.

Sherlock sighed, looking down into his shifting hands resting on his lap. He had tried to keep it together these past few weeks he really had. But he knew that in the end this conversation was inevitable. He did not wish to hurt John, really it was not his place to tell him what to do or not do to with his life, but he did not want to end up hurting himself. Disclosure really was the best thing. They needed to talk about this. “You’re leaving.” Sherlock finally mumbled out, raising his head slightly but still not meeting John’s watchful and anxious gaze.

“What?” his eyes widened. What was Sherlock talking about? Did he think John was going to leave him? What had brought this on?

“You’re joining the army. Don’t deny it. In our first conversation…I deduced it.” Sherlock finally turned to look at John, his face set and slightly lacking of the openness and warmth John was now so used to seeing. It seemed as if he was putting up his walls, protecting himself for whatever was about to come.

 _Ah.. so that was it._ John’s heart sank. He knew that by the way his rugby team was playing he had very little chance of getting the scholarship so he would have to join the army by force. Even if it was something he had been considering for himself on his own. The fact that Sherlock felt he needed to shield himself from John due to this, to protect himself, broke his heart. But there was nothing else to do. John had no money, no family he could go looking for. No way of paying his studies after high-school and he wanted, needed to make someone of himself. For himself and to help his mother, or what was left of her anyway. Harry had taken all the money for herself and her own studies, not that she actually cared about university as much as she cared about the college parties she attended and all the booze she drank but all of the money had gone on her and John was left with what little his mother could provide at the time.

“I… Sherlock… I can’t-.” His eyes had softened, worry and sadness evident in the forming crease between his eyebrows. All ease had seeped away from his body and Sherlock prayed that he could turn back time and stop himself from saying anything. An upset John was not something he liked to see, the light from his eyes dimmed and almost pitying. He felt weak under that gaze and attempted to look away, stopped only by John’s soft and warm palm pressing into his cheek. Not exactly pulling him but softly nudging him not to look away. Sherlock almost wished John would just shrug it off, not try to deny it. He knew about the scholarship, and even more he knew about John’s own desire to join. That it was in some ways a lifelong expectation John had built for himself, and he had seen that since that first meeting in the alley. He did not want to push John to stay, no well he did… he knew that it would only hurt John and he did not want that.

He couldn’t bear the way John was looking at him. He couldn’t bear the lack of words coming out of John’s parted, quirked down lips. There were no words and Sherlock knew that. He had to accept that. In truth, only a couple of minutes had passed since Sherlock had ruined the moment with his outburst instead of the hours it felt it had been but Sherlock drew away from John’s touch and cleared his throat awkwardly.  


“Never mind, John. Don’t worry about me.” He attempted to smile back at his boyfriend and was almost successful.

John didn’t look convinced but he let the matter drop. Knowing from Sherlock’s expression and words that pushing the matter was in no means going to help this at all. This _was_ a conversation they needed to have. But not just quite yet…. Not when things were still uncertain and this conversation wasn’t absolutely crucial. John knew he would do anything to keep Sherlock. What was an ocean but a mere puddle for the strength of the feelings they shared for each other? John cradled Sherlock’s face in his hands and kissed him softly, their lips touching in the smallest of touches tenderly, as if afraid they would break at contact.

When they separated Sherlock kept his eyes closed, as if trying as hard as he could to preserve their small moment. As if afraid that if he opened his eyes John would have suddenly vanished in front of him. John looked over Sherlock’s face, committing its every dip and curve and detail to memory and sighed shakily, he took hold of Sherlock’s hands and cupped them in his own, curling his fingers around his. “I’ll be right back, love” he leaned in and kissed Sherlock’s cheek “I’m gonna make us some tea yeah?”

Sherlock nodded, still not opening his eyes but letting go of John’s hands so he could get up from the couch.

He waited three breaths of time after John’s footsteps started dimming away before he opened his eyes and was faced with an empty space before him. Sherlock sighed, and blinked a couple of times, wiling the blurry sight before him away before John came back.

_PING_

Sherlock blinked, startled by the sudden noise. _Text alert? Who would send me a text right now?_

_PING_

With a frown creasing on his forehead Sherlock tucked the sheet higher up on his shoulders and leaned forward, slipping an arm out to reach out for his phone. Mycroft rarely texted and when he did it was usually when he had given Sherlock a case to work on and he was hurrying him up or constantly reminding him to keep out of trouble. Mummy never texted, preferred to call and his father barely even knew how to use a normal telephone never mind a mobile. The only other person Sherlock texted was John and Molly. And considering Molly was out with her new love interest Mike and John was in his kitchen making tea he was pretty much out of options for people who could be sending him a message.

Sherlock stared at the blinking light at the top of his mobile, eyes narrowing. His chest felt tight, as if his something in gut knew that something here was wrong, out of place. Logically he knew he possessed no senses to possibly know there would be something wrong with this text but something told him that somehow there was.

Sherlock opened the first one.

 

_[Unknown number] sent 7:20 PM_

_Take it and I’ll burn the heart out of you_

Take it? Take what? For a moment Sherlock thought the text was perhaps sent to an unknown number, but curious he opened the second text from the same unknown number, his brow furrowing in confusion as he read it

 

_[Unknown number] sent 7:20 PM_

_I left you a little present. Look outside_

Intrigued Sherlock rose from the couch and wrapped himself more tightly on the sheet, coming closer towards the window across the room. The draped were closed so Sherlock moved them slightly aside to peer. There was simply no way that… _Oh…not wrong number then._ Sherlock mused, his eyebrows raising in shock.

Dangling from the telephone lights directly in front of John’s window were Carl’s ballet shoes…their brown leather quietly burning into ash before the sinking afternoon sun. 


	18. Don't you dare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *hides in embarrassment for taking 20 thousand years to update*  
> Sorry guys im STILL on holiday and will be for the next couple of weeks which makes it reaally hard to write. Plus this chapter and the next gave me hell (not that ive finished the next)- I know exactly what has to happen but the words wont come!!  
> Update will probably be in another week :))  
> Thank you so much for your patience and your comments <333 you guys are awesome!!!

“Hey love, I got your tea… are you alright?”

Sherlock closed the flowing white drape hastily and turned around, fixing his expression into one of tranquillity over the worry that had seeped through him at the sight of Carl’s shoes on fire before him. Clearly the person that had attempted to murder Carl had left these little messages (both text and visual threat) to him as he knew Sherlock was on to them. That, to Sherlock was obvious enough. What he did not understand was the first text. “Take it and I’ll burn the heart out of you”. Take what? The threat at best was vague and Sherlock did not quite know what to make of it. And his heart presumably meant ballet if the burning ballet shoes were anything to go on. Or was that just a representation of Carl’s heart? Or just a simple emphasis on their point? Sherlock needed more data.

“I’m fine. Thank you” Sherlock gave the most genuine smile that he could come up with and could see that John was almost fooled but wouldn’t pry. Sherlock moved back to the couch, subtly switching his phone off under the sheets so he wouldn’t be disturbed again and so John wouldn’t be able to see the text messages. Enough had happened today and John didn’t need to worry about this above it all, Sherlock would deal with it by himself.  

He poised himself back on the couch and made room for John, taking the steaming cup of tea between both hands and resting his back against the blonde’s chest; the same position they had been in before the whole army conversation had ruined everything. In mutual and silent agreement they both decided to let the small sour moment slide by as they came together. John raised a hand and slid his fingers into Sherlock’s dark curls, caressing the scalp tenderly and rejoicing on Sherlock’s sighs of pleasure.

Slowly the silence around them grew comfortable and serene again as familiarity set in and Sherlock dropped his head down on to John’s neck, tea long gone cold as John distracted Sherlock with his strong tender fingers massaging his scalp in slow pressured circles. Sherlock’s eyes slid closed as he took in the feeling of John surrounding him, John’s smell beside his cheek, John’s strong legs around his thighs.

“I love you” John suddenly whispered, ducking his head to lay a soft kiss on the side of Sherlock’s neck, right below his jaw. “You know that… right?” his voice, sounded soft and laced with pain, and his arms curled around Sherlock’s slim waist in a protective sqeeze.

Sherlock felt a wave of warmth and peace bloom on his heart as it swelled. He knew. He did. But to hear three simple and yet remarkably world changing words was something else.. and Sherlock had not expected having such a strong emotional reaction. He felt the tension from the day ease out of him in a happy sigh as he nuzzled closer into John’s strong arms and turned his head to kiss John lightly on the lips. “Yes… I know.” John’s soft and quiet laugh caressed Sherlock’s neck and he added “I love you too, John. You.. you’re everything to me”. He winced internally at the sudden lack of words on how to express the depth of what he felt for this boy; this remarkable boy that had somehow stumbled into studio 129 and into his life.

They didn’t talk after that, but instead basked in each other’s silent company and comfort. Sherlock completely forgot about the texts… the puzzle… the window and its horrifying message and instead focused on his John.

 After a while they migrated back to the bed, where John curled himself up behind Sherlock and stroked his hands up and down that warm narrow chest in soothing circles before finally helplessly sliding his eyes closed against the curve of Sherlock’s warm neck and into a deep sleep. 

…The next day…

Sherlock was disconcerted by how many people were staring at him when he walked into the ballet studios. He knew that Victor’s scathing words yesterday had caused a bit of an impression, but he would’ve assumed that John’s defence of him would’ve waivered at least some of their suspicions on him. Then again… John had been pretty angered and defensive of Sherlock. But John was walking right behind him.. and people weren’t staring at him. They didn’t seem angry at John. Or angry at Sherlock, really. They just... stared. As if trying to figure something out of Sherlock. The dancer wasn’t quite sure what to make of it.

John, being  John, noticed the extra attention Sherlock was getting on the hallway towards the studio and slipped his fingers in between his, giving his hand an encouraging squeeze and when Sherlock met his eyes he winked and smiles in reassurance. “It’ll pass love, they’re probably still shocked by what happened yesterday” he whispered in his ear.

Sherlock hummed noncommittally, unconvinced by John’s words but feeling slightly more relaxed and focused on getting into his regular studio, trying to ignore the dancers gaping at him in complete and unsettling silence.

Once enclosed by the four familiar walls of studio 129 Sherlock felt eased enough to lay a soft kiss on John’s lips before letting go of his warm hand. He then put down his bag on the door as the blonde walked towards his usual spot at the far side of the room and took out his sketchbook. This felt somehow… off. After what had happened yesterday with Carl and the not-exactly-conversation Sherlock and himself had had about him almost surely going to join the army after school, this simple act of taking out his sketchbook seemed something completely out of the ordinary even if it was what he usually did during these ballet lessons. Somehow it felt as if those easy classes had all been an entire lifetime ago. Back when his feelings for Sherlock had been but a crush. Now he was in love with him, he had told him so. Now he knew that someone dangerous was out there. Someone who had failed to poison a dancer because Sherlock himself had deduced the cause of the attack and John knew that whoever had done it probably wasn’t too thrilled with Sherlock right now.

John felt possessive and protective. Not something new, really. But this time he had no idea where to point all this defence against. Yesterday his control had slipped yet again and he had broken that arsehole’s nose. Not that he was especially guilty about that but he knew It wasn’t exactly a good thing, or the kind of behaviour he should be nursing whenever someone looked at Sherlock the wrong way. He knew that he had in some way, overreacted due to the fear that Sherlock could somehow be in danger of this invisible attacker somehow and he had directed more anger to Victor that was really necessary. Sherlock was innocent and no matter what Victor had said the dancers knew that. Sherlock had saved that kid’s life. And he was not a killer, and most certainly not a  psychopath. And in that moment they had clung on to Victor’s words just because they needed someone to blame. They needed an explanation and he was providing them with one. A wrong one; but one nonetheless.

John sighed and focused on Sherlock stretching on the floor. He had changed into his usual ballet slippers and had taken off John’s rugby jacket. His ribs were visible through the thin white t-shirt he was wearing as he stretched down his body and rested his forehead on his knee. John sighed and smiled at the lean figure, tracing the long lines of his neck and back on the clean white paper. Really there was no more reason for him to draw on this class; having learnt more than enough for his art class now that he had almost finished his comic. But there was just something about drawing Sherlock in his element. And stretching. And sitting. And simply being Sherlock. How he had gotten lucky enough to have this amazing man he’d never know. The dancer felt John’s eyes on his neck, and as per usual he felt a thrill of pleasure a warmth bloom on his stomach. He turned his head and caught John’s eyes, smiling warmly and revelling in the soft blush that spread through John’s cheeks.

A couple of minutes later Molly walked into the classroom, her eyes wide and curious. “Sherlock! Congratulations! Are you gonna take it?” she smiled sweetly at him, and seeing the completely baffled look on his face she turned to John, but found the same clueless look on his expression.

 _Take it? There are those words again. What on earth do they mean_ Sherlock thought, definitely not used to not understanding something immediately and the fact that it was not just one but two people frustrating him the most. “Take what?” he said, it came out a bit too snappish and but he wasn’t exactly in his right frame of mind to apologize.

John, assuming it was a non-issue turned back to him drawing, cradling his pencil carefully as he traced the long lies of Sherlock’s stretched legs in front of him.

Molly didn’t seem fazed at Sherlock’s tone, having known him for far too long and thus having learnt to expect mood swings at any given time. “The part! You.. you don’t know?”

Sherlock turned to look at her widely, unseeing of the way John’s head snapped towards them at full attention to that was going on.

“We all received an email yesterday afternoon… It said Carl’s gonna make a full recovery but not in time for the play. So they’re going with their second choice…” she nodded towards him, an easy smile covering her lips. After a couple of beats of still confused silence she sighed and tried again “You Sher!”

John’s pencil snapped in his hand, Sherlock eyes shot wide open and a harsh gasp escaped his lips. _He was second choice… Take it and I’ll burn the heart out of you… Agents… John… poison… shoes.. heart… ballet? They want me to back down… hmmm…This is starting to sound rather fun isn’t it?_

Sherlock had started blinking rapidly, the rest of his body making no sign of ever moving again. His clear grey blue irises had become glassy and far-away. John knew the signs of Sherlock retiring momentarily to his mind palace as soon as shocking information or a heavy flow of data was given to him. He breathed out shakily and stood up, trying not too seem to concerned in case Sherlock came back to himself and instantly deduced John’s worry over this particular piece of news.

“Are you sure Molly?” he asked, his brow furrowing. He knew that chances were Sherlock would take the part and there was really nothing he could do to convince him not to. There was no proof that whoever had tried to kill Carl had done so due to the fact that he had gotten the part for Romeo. Who in their right mind would take a part so seriously? Nonetheless there was a knot sitting low in John’s stomach, burning and heavy. Something was definitely not right here.

“Well.. yeah. That’s what the email said. I assumed Sherlock would have known by now” she answered, looking bemusedly from Sherlock’s unmoving form to John’s rigid anxious one. “Is everything… all right? I thought this was good news” she shifted awkwardly on her spot.

Sherlock finally stopped blinking and he cleared his throat forcefully, turning his sights to look at John and Molly. “Yes. Thank you for telling me Molly” he gave her one of his automatic smiles that somehow pulled too much at the corner of his pink lips but still didn’t quite touch his eyes and John narrowed his own in suspicion. It was so unlike Sherlock to give Molly one of those, usually he saved them up for the rest of the ballet dancers he didn’t particularly like, or even sometimes Mrs.Hudson when she wouldn’t let him practice without stretching first.

Molly didn’t seem to notice, relieved by Sherlock’s gratitude. “Well.. I’m off to studio 121. They’re fitting the girls for their first set of costumes for the show.” She grinned at both of them and walked out of the room, a spring in her step.

Sherlock turned back to his stretching, leaving John string after him with confusion and suspicion. “Sherlock?”

“Yes John?” he answered, his voice sounding muffled as the returned to pressing his forehead against his knees, stretching out to touch his feet with his fingers and curling down his toes.

“Are you…” he thought about what he was going to say.. Sherlock didn’t seem scared, or nervous. He didn’t seem excited either… but maybe that was just the shock. Perhaps asking him about it now would just ruin his entire thought process…Sherlock cocked his head slightly, confused by John’s hesitation. “Are you… coming to mine after rugby practice?” John blurted out, unable to think of anything else to ask.

Sherlock smiled, a mischievous glint in is eye “Hmmm…Whatever for John?” he spread his legs into a horizontal split and reached out with his body as far as he could, keeping the eye contact with John.

John laughed shakily, how Sherlock could still make him blush with a single look was beyond him “Just for… studying. Nothing…” he licked his lips slowly “unseemly of course”

“Of course” Sherlock agreed, his voice deep and dark. “I’ll meet you there John” he purred.

John grinned, he had to leave ballet practice early today considering that they had a game tomorrow afternoon. He’d already told Sherlock he would be leaving early so he could have a much needed extra hour of practice with his team.

“You’re gonna be alright?” John asked him, picking up his things hastily and kneeling down on the floor next to the stretching figure of Sherlock. 

“Yes. Since Mrs. Hudson doesn’t come on Wednesday’s I’ll have the full hour to practice on my own routines.. and think about the Romeo offer”

John’s smile faltered slightly, but he quickly pecked Sherlock on the lips to hide the wavering emotions on his mind and with a last long, fond look back at the dancer he set out to rugby practice.

Sherlock stared after him for a couple of minutes weighing the options in his mind. He could tell that John was worried about something. Presumably it was about Sherlock getting the part of Romeo due to his pencil-snapping reaction but… should Sherlock not take the part he would be giving up to whoever had threatened him. He would most likely never find out who it was in the first place. There could be pain if he did take it… John would be worried constantly. Not that he should be, Sherlock could take care of himself… but he would be. And John didn’t even know about the texts… and the burning shoes. But should he tell him? That was what couples did.. presumably; be honest with each other. But Sherlock wanted this part more than any of the others did. The part should be his. It _was_ his. Why on earth should he fear someone he knew was coming to attack. Sherlock could anticipate it.

He was going to take the part.

….

“So when do we get to meet Sherlock, mate?” Greg asked John. They were walking back from rugby practice, already halfway to John’s place which was closer than Greg’s so they usually walked on the same route together. It had been a rough practice. John had decided that he would not think about the army until it was an unnecessary choice or until he decided himself that that was the path he wanted to take for himself. Until then, he would work hard so that when the time came the choice of leaving or staying would be fully his and no one else’s. He had ignored the rain as best as he could and had attempted to keep his team focused and active.

The rest of his teammates, sensing John’s seriousness had committed fully to the practice. The lack of the coach helped as well as they were under the wing of their captain instead, commanding and firm but never cruel nor unfair. The knot in John’s belly had somewhat unfurled as the team had actually been fairly good for this last practice and he had hopes that tomorrow’s game would at least be a draw or a narrow win considering it would be played in their own field, which the team was comfortable and familiar with.  

“Sherlock? I don’t know. Tomorrow probably. He insisted that he want to come to the game.” Sherlock had said something about wanting to see John play shirtless but he wasn’t going to tell Greg that. And he probably wouldn’t take off his shirt considering the weather was as cold as ever. Maybe after the game. In the showers. With Sherlock. In private. _Maybe this isn’t the best time to be thinking about that._

Greg seemed quite excited about it, instantly beginning a rant on how he couldn’t believe John had set up Mike with a cute ballet dancer instead of him and how on top of that Mike had also met Sherlock properly “Sharing is caring John” he told him seriously, the mock given away by the slight twitch on the corner of his lips.

John huffed a laugh, shaking his head fondly at Greg. Man that man could talk his ears our but he was a good guy. Maybe if he met someone else he could set them up too. He resolved to ask Sherlock later if he knew someone.

Greg dropped John off with a last “Sleep well cap! Important day tomorrow!” and walked backwards until he stumbled upon a lady that was rapidly texting on a black blackberry phone. John snorted as he walked into his building, the sounds of Greg’s awkward apologies ringing behind him. He climbed up the stairs, knowing by now that Sherlock would have probably picked the lock to the apartment and was already waiting for him upstairs.

As expected Sherlock was sitting on John’s windowsill, apparently unaware that the blonde had come in. His eyes were focused on some unseen object outside and his brow was furrowed. John placed his bag carefully down next to the front door and closed it with a silent click. He walked the few paces that separated them and slid his arms around Sherlock’s lean body, surrounding him completely with his warm arms. “Hey, love” he whispered against Sherlock’s pale neck, kissing the curve where it met his jaw softly. Sherlock startled a bit at the touch, confirming that he hadn’t really noticed that John had even arrived let alone that he was behind him and hugging him.

“John!” Sherlock wriggled himself out of John’s embrace in panic and tugged him away from the window so John wouldn’t be facing it. “Hi” he rushed out, his voice came out higher than usual and he was still seeming completely thrown off base and startled by John’s sudden presence.

John frowned as Sherlock kept tugging him away from the window and closer to the couch. “What’s going on?” he set his feet stubbornly so Sherlock couldn’t pull him. With a raised eyebrow he pried out Sherlock’s strong fingers that were curled around his wrist and took his hand in between both of his.

“Nothing. I’m just happy you’re here” Sherlock wouldn’t meet John’s eyes, staring instead into the far side of the room. He visibly straightened himself up and looked at John intensely. His face modelled into one of complete nonchalance and almost offense at the suggestion that he wasn’t acting his completely normal self. Not that he acted what was deemed normal by anyone anyway. John wasn’t fooled for even a second.

He narrowed his eyes and scanned Sherlock’s features carefully. For about a minute nothing changed except for the slight narrowing of Sherlock’s eyes, almost daring him to figure it out. But then his eyes, almost imperceptibly flickered for a millisecond to the window, anxiousness glinting in the back of the bright verdigris colour.

John didn’t let go of Sherlock’s slightly trembling hand but he turned away and looked out of the window. Clearly, there was something out there that Sherlock would rather John not see. He ignored Sherlock’s protests and scanned the scene in the dimming light of the outside sky but nothing seemed out of the ordinary on the streets. No sirens or fights like John had been expecting. Nothing seemed off except for… were those… ballet shoes?

Dangling from the telephone cords there seemed to be a strung pair of burnt ballet shoes. They were blackened and ruined, the fire had eaten through the soft lace and the leather soles but they were still recognizable. “Are those… are those Carl’s shoes?” John’s eyes widened in shock as the still-unwavering inexplicable weight knotted his stomach in fear. “What on earth are those… Sherlock??”

Sherlock had let go of John’s hand with a harsh intake of breath and a grimace. “Do you know something about this?” John asked carefully, Sherlock had turned his face and body away from him.

A couple of beats of silence passed before John tried again “Sherlock? Is there… something you’re not telling me?”

Sherlock cleared his throat, closing his eyes in defeat. _You idiot. You knew John was coming home soon. You knew you should have taken those shoes down as soon as you had had the apartment to yourself. You knew that eventually you and John would talk about this… and you knew you couldn’t.. can’t lie to John Watson._ Sherlock braced himself and turned to face John. “I received two texts from an unknown number last night. One of them said “If you take it I’ll burn the heart out of you” and the other pointing out a surprise left for me outside the window. When I went over to investigate I saw Carl’s shoes surrounded by flames. I don’t know who did it. But it was undoubtedly whoever tried to kill Carl.”

John blinked. “Why didn’t you tell me?... Wait… if you take it? What does that mean?... The part of Romeo?”

“I assume so… due to the fact that Carl’s shoes were put there as a threat. I assume he means he’ll kill me. Or somehow ruin my ballet career, my metaphorical ‘heart’.”

“That’s it then. You can’t take it. You won’t take the part of Romeo.”

“What?” Sherlock said, eyebrows raised and brow furrowed in bemusement at John’s words.

“You heard me. Whoever did this to carl sent you a warning. I won’t have you get hurt.”

“So… what? You won’t _let_ me take the part of Romeo?” Sherlock retorted irritably.

“No. I won’t. This person’s a psychopath Sherlock! You’re going to get hurt!” John tried to reach for the dancer but Sherlock took a step back, eyes narrowed in indignation.

“Sorry to break it to you John but you’re not my guardian and I can take care of myself just fine.”

“Sherlock! I’m not saying you can’t- But… be reasonable!”

“Why should I?! Finally something interesting happens around here and-“

“SOMETHING INTERESTING? SHERLOCK! Someone almost died?! Don’t you care?!”

“No. I don’t. Problem?”

John just stared at him, face twisting in anger and hurt

“I won’t let you do it. I won’t let you get hurt” his jaw set, and he stared at Sherlock daringly, arms crossed and tense.

Sherlock barked a laugh, humourless and angry “You… of all people can’t say that. You can’t say that to me. Don’t you dare-“

“What on earth are you talking about?” John threw his arms in the air, his voice rising

Sherlock snapped, something in his just cracked and he couldn’t hold it in any longer. Not for a minute, nor for a second, all the pain and the anger hurling out of him and into his rolling tongue “YOU’RE LEAVING ME”

John took a step back, stunned by the sheer volume of Sherlock’s voice and his sizzling anger.

“YOU. YOU ARE GOING TO THE ARMY TO GET YOURSELF SHOT AT. You don’t care if you leave me here! You don’t care what happens to me if, _when_ ,you die! And I thought I had no right to tell you what to do.” Sherlock’s lips curled down in pain “Don’t you dare say you won’t let me get hurt. Don’t you dare act like you care at all if you’re just going to turn around and leave me here to wait for you alone”

“It’s not the same Sherlock! I-”

“No!” Sherlock snapped “No it isn’t the same. Because if I can’t tell you to stay. You can’t tell me to stay still and let this maniac win. I can do whatever the hell I bloody want to John Watson.” He didn’t wait for John to answer but instead just stormed off to the door, slamming it shut in a single powerful snap of his arm.

John closed his eyes, tried to pretend he didn’t hear Sherlock angry footsteps on the stairs. He tried to pretend none of this had happened and Sherlock was still here. John tried to tune out the heart wrenching sob that escaped his own lips as he fell to his knees on the cold ground of his empty flat.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hate angst. I hate hurting my Sherlock and my John. Theyll be happy in the end do not fear!!!!!  
> again-- update in about a week :))) thanks for reading!!!! (I miiight name the chapters in the near future... so if i do expect terrible and cheesy chapter names)


	19. Sign here please

The cheers resounded all through the immense rugby field, echoing and mashing together into a unified roar. The rain, even now was still battling down heavily onto both teams of drenched players on the field but they took no notice. John was running, ball in hand.

It was the last 5 minutes of the game and the home team was winning. But only by a pinch. The other team was clearly not used to practicing in such dreadful weather and kept slipping and sliding through the mud, their steps far too careless and unmeasured. John’s team however, was unafraid. Far too used to the wet cold feeling of the squelching mud on their clothes and their bare skin. They ran carefully but fearlessly, shouting and communicating with each other. They were going to win. They felt it. But one can never be too careful. And there is such a thing as over confidence.

John was trying very hard not to let his sight waver from the field, from the players and the ball. Even now as he ran he knew that if he turned his head there was no way he could possibly distinguish individual faces or people from the blur of the crowd and yet… his eyes flickered every so often. John knew that the chances he would find Sherlock at the last few minutes of the game were low but he could barely help himself. He saw naught but the distorted faces of the cheering mass, bright coloured shirts and a thousand shades of eyes and hair but no dark curls and no unnameable razor sharp eyes.

John closed his eyes and with one last look back to make sure the players running after him with furious glares on their faces were far enough behind him before…

“YES!” The cheers from John’s team tore through the rain. John, picked himself up from the ground where he had almost been tackled before the final touchdown of the game, a stubborn grin breaking through his fogged thoughts of Sherlock into his face. Greg ran towards John and offered a hand to help him stand.

One side of the field was roaring in triumph while the other was rapidly emptying with the begrudgingly clapping parents of the opposing team. John caught the eye of one of the boys who had attempted to tackle him and received a firm and slightly resentful nod of the head.

“Great game mate!” Greg boomed, his hair completely plastered onto his forehead from the rain and sweat. His cheeks were bright pink and his happiness radiated from every pore of his body. He slapped John in the back a bit too hard and John, unprepared stumbled forward slightly.

“You too buddy” John laughed out pushing Greg back with his shoulder.

“So where’s Sherlock? I thought he would have come down to give his man a congratulatory kiss eh?” he started looking around for the dancer, unaware of the falling expression on the captain face and the dropping of his shoulders into a vulnerable hunch. Greg looked back at John who, reluctant to say anything about the subject, just shook his head and looked down to the muddy grass around them.

Greg, understanding immediately dropped the subject at once, changing it as smoothly as he could manage with a small clearing of his throat. “So how about that game eh? I’d say our next match in a month I gonna go brilliantly if we keep it up. Imagine if the rain stops too” he laughed, John finally met his eyes and thanked the gods that Greg was his friend. The concern hadn’t left Greg’s expression but he was clearly making an effort so John huffed out a small chuckle and nodded “If we keep this up I might not join the army at all. I was thinking perhaps I was choosing it for all the wrong reasons you know?”

“What do you mean?”

They had started walking to the showers, the bleachers finally clearing out and the field almost empty of players.

John opened his mouth to respond but a loud sniff behind him interrupted him. “Mr. Watson I hope you’re not about to leave the field without picking everything up are you?”

John closed his eyes and hissed in a breath, naturally he would have expected coach Moran to be at least pleasantly surprised or even proud by their win but apparently that was too much to ask of them man. John swallowed down a retort and turned around looking as composed as he could manage “Of course not sir.”

“We’ll get right to it coach sir” Greg jumped in, looking almost ridiculously straightened up and attentive. John was barely able to supress the snort that rose up at Greg’s mock soldier tone.

“Drop it Lestrade. Unless you want detention that is. I think Watson here still needs a little coaching as a captain and should do the cleaning up himself.” He sneered at John. “Hit the showers Lestrade. And take that one with you” he motioned towards Mike who was waiting for both of them awkwardly a couple of feet away looking unsure.

Greg shot John an apologetic look as he retreated, snatching mike’s arm on the way and dragging him towards the locker room at a slow jog.

Coach Moran didn’t spare John a last look and went to retrieve his umbrella from the stands before leaving john alone to clean everything up. “Don’t forget to drop the spare balls in my office and you better hope none are missing or we’re gonna have a problem Watson” he called back angrily.

John rolled his eyes and muttered to himself angrily as he went around picking up the trash and the thrown t-shirts in the grass “You’d think they could pick up their own t-shirts without me” he muttered. Afterwards he snatched the ball from the ground and stuffed it in the net bag the coach had left at the side of the bleachers and went around looking for the spare ones the team had used for practice before the game. Once he was sure he had them all he slung the bag over his shoulder and located his own sports bag and his rugby jersey. His spirits fell slightly as he shrugged it on, upset to know that it wasn't covering Sherlock's thin shoulders and that he had left it in John's apartment yesterday.

He knew by now that hoping for an apologetic text from Sherlock or an explanation as to why he had missed the game was silly. If Sherlock hadn’t answered the dozens of texts or calls john had sent him between last night and this morning it was hopeless to think he would have changed his mind. If Sherlock was one thing that was stubborn. John took out his phone anyway ad unlocked it, heart unnecessarily spiking a beat before the notifications showed no texts. None from Sherlock anyway.

John sighed and started walking towards the office, mentally debating whether he should try calling again or he should call it a day and give Sherlock  some  space. If he called again he would just come off as clingy and that was the very last thing John needed. They would resolve this and by tomorrow John would talk to him and everything would be back to normal. Hopefully.  He would make it right. The way things were going perhaps even the army subject wouldn’t be an issue anymore and John could try to convince Sherlock not to take the part in a more… subtle and tactile way.

John looked up at the sky and grinned as the last few drops of rain splashed onto his face. They had won. Against all odds they had won the game. At least for this small moment John felt unstoppable. He knew he could fix things with Sherlock. He knew everything was going to be fine.

As he dropped the net bag onto the carpet of coach Moran’s office he admitted to himself that perhaps he had been a little too brusque and presumptuous when he had basically ordered Sherlock not to take the part. But he wouldn’t make the same mistake again. He closed the door after him and started off towards the locker room, decided to then go looking after Sherlock and fix things when…

“Pity isn’t it?”

John stopped short, frozen in spot a high voice that came from the shadows of the hallway.

“Excuse me?” he turned around, squinting into the darkness.

The high voice sounded eerily familiar but he couldn’t quite place the face in the obscurity of the corner the figure had chosen to speak from.

“How blind even a genius can be in the face of sentiment. It really is very boring. So…Ordinary”

“Who…. _You._ You did this didn’t you. You threatened Sherlock. You poisoned Carl!”  John dropped his bag and took a step forward, still unnerved by the utter calmness of the singsong voice but unwilling to show any sign of weakness. At least he knew that for the moment this person wasn’t following Sherlock. He could take this arsehole himself.

The shadow clapped slowly “Took you a while didn’t it. Then again even Sherlock dear doesn’t suspect me…. The sentimental fool. He just wants everything to be clever. He wants everything to have a twist. A secret villain hiding beneath a façade. Probably spent an entire hour trying to figure out if it was you”

 “He trusts me” John growled, his shoulders stiffening in a familiar defensive pose.

“Is that why he’s here with you?”

John’s snarl fell short.. pain spreading on his chest. He said nothing

“I thought so… Unlucky for you Sherlock doesn’t like to follow orders. So I’ll have to go along with my threat. Unlucky for Sherlock… not even _he_ knows his ordinary heart. His pressure point. Sentiment softened him” He glared at John in distaste “You ruined someone that could have been great. Made him human… dull.”

John opened his mouth to retort but the shadowed boy had snapped his fingers and motioned to an unseen shadow behind John before turning his back on the blonde to leave from the opposite direction.

John had barely taken another step forward, decided not to let this psychopath leave without a fight, before he felt a sharp sting of a needle on his neck, a warm ardent heat spreading alarmingly fast from his throat into his chest and limbs. He felt his legs collapsing under him bonelessly and his vision going pitch black, a soft hissing laugh echoing through the darkened hall before the darkness consumed him whole.

…

Sherlock knew John’s rugby game started at the same time as his ballet class. He knew it dragged on to the next hour so he definitely could have gone to at least the second half of the game. Sherlock knew John loved him. He knew that as infuriating as he had been the day before he was sorry and still… he couldn’t quite face him yet.

John had no right to tell him what to do, or not to do for that matter. Sherlock hadn’t said a single word about him leaving in an angered or judgemental way before yesterday’s fight and it was simply unfair of John not to give Sherlock the same space and right to choose what he wanted for himself. Sherlock lived for ballet, for the adrenaline of crime and for John. And John couldn’t just ask him to give everything up in the face of danger. Sherlock was in no danger.  The threat had been to ‘burn’ his heart and how could Sherlock’s ballet career be burned this fast? The threat made no sense at all. The villain had made a threat so now Sherlock couldn’t possibly be taken by surprise.

Sherlock spent the entirety of John’s rugby game sulking in the ballet studios. The second hour he was completely alone, spared from the questioning stares from Molly and Mrs. Hudson as to why he wasn’t with John at the game. He had spent the entirety of the two hours debating with himself whether to sign up of Romeo and secure his place or not.

 On the one hand Sherlock wanted this. He wanted this so bad and part of him also wanted this faceless threat to present itself, to challenge Sherlock. He wanted to prove himself, to demonstrate once and for all he was the best. The winner, the only goddam player that counted. Sherlock needed the challenge, perhaps the chance to be proven wrong on the lack of worthy opponents. On the other hand… if he did sign up John wouldn’t forgive him. And he couldn’t bear to lose John either. He could almost too easily picture the disappointment and anger in John’s deep blue eyes. The sadness lingering in the corners. The rejection that would inevitably follow after the bitterness.

The truth was Sherlock had never fully realized how alone and misunderstood he really was until John. Molly had always been kind friend to him but he only saw her in ballet lessons and although she accepted him she never completely understood him. John was different. John loved him. Sherlock could no longer remember a time before John where he felt nearly as happy and protected and secure as he does now… or did before this stupid fight.

But how could he give up his entire career right now? What if this was his only big break? What if he never got another part ever again and John died in battle and… no... John couldn’t die. Sherlock wouldn’t have it… But in the end he won’t have John forever. Chances are John will not change his mind about the military and no matter what happened Sherlock cannot demand him to stay. Or even if he managed to convince him the choice might not even be his to make if the rugby games do not go well, and in this rain…..

Sherlock stood up from the cold wooden floors. He was being ridiculous. He could handle whatever came to him, no matter the danger. And John was worrying far too much. Being far too overprotective. Sherlock could take care of himself. He had survived alone this long. John would forgive him in time. And this was something Sherlock needed to do for himself.

He walked out of studio 129 and headed for the director’s office, Sherlock had never actually bothered to learn his name, where the balding man always stayed at least an hour after class hours. The entire building was dead silent. And somehow Sherlock had become used to the silence of the building in the dark but now… it felt too overwhelming. Too desolate and abandoned. He tried to ignore the ringing silence in his ears and headed for the unfamiliar wooden door next to the massive staircase.

He knocked quietly, suddenly feeling unsure until the booming voice of the director called him in “Come in!”

Sherlock opened the door and closed it after himself with a soft click.

“Hello lad! Am I happy to see you!  Are you here to sign your agreement to play the part of Romeo for our upcoming production? Terrible terrible thing that happened to that Carl kid isn’t it?”

“Uhh yes.. it was”

“Anyway Sherlock m’boy! All worked out well in the end huh? Many agents will be there waiting just to sign you up” he winked. Without waiting for any sort of reply, not that Sherlock even had one in mind, he reached down into his desk and brought out the list of cast names, all with signatures at the corner of the part given. A small blank sat almost expectantly in between Sherlock’s name and Romeo’s.

Sherlock cleared his throat and before he could think it through any longer he set his jaw tightly and snatched the first pen he could reach from the director’s desk. Without further hesitation he then scratched his signature into the blank space and met the director’s delighted eyes with his own stoically cold ones.

“Excellent m’boy!” He stood from behind his desk and clapped Sherlock almost painfully strong on the back “I’ll send an email right away to the producers, the choreographers and-”

Sherlock blocked out the rest of the speech, staring into space almost unseeing anything before him. Guilt oozed into his stomach for not going to John’s game, for completely ignoring the countless calls and apologetic texts John had sent him throughout the day. He was not sorry for taking the part but if he was being honest with himself he had overreacted, what could possibly happen? Was this small fight about a part in a dance production really more important than the boy he loved? Absolutely and unequivocally not.

“Thanks Mr…uh.. director.” Sherlock interrupted him. “I better get going home… It’s getting late”

“Absolutely Holmes! You better rest for this part! It’ll be demanding!” He laughed by himself as Sherlock awkwardly nodded and made his way out of the office and into the studio to pick up his things.

He took off his ballet slippers and was in the middle of tying his purple converse when the ring of an email resounded from the inside of his bag. He didn’t bother checking, knowing it was most likely from the director who was probably informing every one of the dancers of the fact that Sherlock had accepted the offer to play Romeo.

Then another two chimes came from the inside of the bag. These ones text alerts. Sherlock finished tying his shoelace rapidly. He knew they were probably from John, another apology text or outcome on their game. These ones, however, Sherlock would not ignore. He winced as he remembered some of the last ones John had sent ‘ _I’m so so sorry’ ‘Please forgive me. I acted like an idiot’ ‘Please answer me Sherlock.’ ‘I’m so sorry Sherlock. Please let me talk to you… I can’t leave it like this’ ‘ I love you.. please answer. I love you.’_

Sherlock sighed, guiltily and unzipped his bag, fishing his phone out and unlocking it with a few measured strokes to the screen. He tapped on the text notification to open it, expecting to see John’s name pop up on the screen but an unknown number popped into view.

_[Unknown number] sent 6:12 PM_

_I said I’d burn it, Sherlock. Shame we both like to play the game._

Sherlock frowned and opened the next text, it was an image. He downloaded it and waited for a few seconds before it loaded.

 

Sherlock frowned staring as the picture popped up. It seemed to be some sort of jacket burning on the ground of a field.

Sherlock’s eyes widened  _It can’t be_ he zoomed in and stared unseeingly for a moment calculating its meaning before his heart stopped. Bile rose up on his throat. His hand loosened and the phone fell to the ground, most likely shattering the screen.

_John’s jacket._

_Rugby field_

_John._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much for reading!! <3<3 I'm sorry for taking so long in between chapters. Hopefully i'll have the next one in around 4 to 5 days tops :))  
> Thank you so much for your patience and kudos and comments- it means sosososo much to me I cannot even begin to thank you <3<3


	20. Confrontation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was so difficult to write- I hope it came out alright. It's a tad long but i wasnt to keen on splitting it into two chapters. I have enough chapters that end unhappily or in cliffhangers.   
> Technically this is sort of the final chapter-- next will be an epilogue a couple of months after this. It will hopefully be posted some time before the 19th of August 
> 
> As always thanks for reading and leaving comments and kudos <3<3<3

****

Sherlock stayed frozen in the same spot until he realized he was gasping out each breath in harsh rasps, almost tethering on sobs. Precisely 15 different ways to go about confronting the unknown threat passed through his mind before he was able to come back to himself, blinking fast and snatching his phone from the ground where it had fallen. Only the very top of the screen was shattered, glass crystals clinking to the ground and over Sherlock’s pale fingers as he swept the lock screen open.

The picture of John’s burning jacket leapt up at him again and Sherlock closed his eyes, pressing the palm of his right hand to his shut eyelids, in an attempt to calm down. He took a few shuddering breaths and opened his eyes to focus on the picture. The field was definitely a rugby field and by close inspection Sherlock could tell that the picture had been taken no longer than 5 to 10 minutes ago judging by the time now and the tone of the sky then. Therefore, it coincided perfectly around the time the e-mail had been sent informing everyone that Sherlock had accepted the part of Romeo. The picture must have been taken right before then, so whoever had done this clearly suspected Sherlock would take the part before he even had, meaning John had been harmed even before Sherlock had accepted the part.

Sherlock began to sprint towards the building’s main door. Whoever had done this clearly meant for Sherlock to take the bait and come to the rugby field. So clearly John was still there…hopefully unharmed. And Sherlock was coming for him.

He rose the phone in front of him as he ran, dialling a number as fast as he could without losing sight of the pavement below him. Luckily for him it only took a few rings before a familiar voice answered the phone and Sherlock began shouting explanations and further instructions.

…

The school grounds were quiet when Sherlock arrived. Everyone that had come for the rugby game had clearly left and the school was now completely empty. Well, not completely. Even in the afternoon setting sun a trail of dark thick smoke could be seen rising from the short distance from the pavement where Sherlock stood and the rugby field.

The dancer sped up his sprint and charged into the field grounds before stopping short.

Nothing; no preparation, not that Sherlock had been trying to picture what this psychopath had been doing to John (more like he was trying to avoid thinking about it), but nothing could have prepared him for the sight that met him.

The entire rugby attire and equipment was completely engulfed in flames under the goal post. Everything. From the shirts to the extra shoes, balls and jackets. Everything was burning. In front of the blazing fire was a boy. No taller than John and most definitely not taller than Sherlock. A boy with short and combed dark hair and a smug sneer, staring at Sherlock in the distance with beetle black empty eyes and sparkling white teeth. Jim Moriarty. Charlie Magnussen stood not far behind, tossing more equipment into the fire. Sherlock looked up into the smoke and his heart twisted up even further into his stomach.

 John was dangling from the rugby post, upside down and tied up with a single almost frail layer of white rope. His entire upper body until his forearms were covered and held tightly together to avoid him squirming. He was unconscious but clearly breathing in at least part of the smoke that rose up. His face was bright red with the copious amounts of blood rushing into his head from his position. His expression was pained.

Sherlock tore his eyes away from the vulnerable figure. “Let. Him. Go” he spat out, charging closer to Moriarty.

Jim just pulled out a gun “Oh Sherl... I wouldn’t do that if I were you” he twirled it around a couple of times in one hand, Magnussen turning to look at him with an almost fond smirk and a snort directed  at Sherlock, completely unperturbed by the twisted situation the three of them found themselves in.

Sherlock stopped in his tracks. “What do you want Jim?” he snapped, clenching his fists at his sides until the nails dug into his palms in effort not to lunge himself at Jim Moriarty and strangle him with his bare hands.

Moriarty just craned his neck and stared at Sherlock as if he were the most amusing and adorable thing he’d ever seen, the gun didn’t stop twirling in his hand. “No no no Sherlock I already made my demand. And you… broke it.” He giggled, shaking his head and staring at Sherlock as if he were a naughty child “I did tell you I’d burn your heart… I did warn you”

Sherlock hissed in a breath “This cannot possibly be only about the stupid ballet part! WHAT DO YOU WANT?” he snarled

“Manner manners Sherlock” Moriarty tutted, shaking his head slowly. He stopped the gun in his fingers and turned it around “Or he gets it” he pointed the gun at John’s dangling body, still knocked out and unaware of the danger he was in. His lips were slightly parted and Sherlock’s heart clenched as he struggled to keep his composure and not break down in panic.

Sherlock took a deep breath and tried again “Why are you doing this? How did you manage to do this without anyone noticing?”

Moriarty nodded “Good observation. Seems you’re not quite as useless as I was thinking you to be. Everything can be managed with a little bribing Sherlock; surely even you know that. You… who wants everything to be twisted and clever.” He clicked his tongue  “The world doesn’t work like that Sherlock. But you didn’t even turn to look at me twice before today did you? All it would have taken was a little observation but you were too focused on your little pet here…” he looked up at John in distaste.

Sherlock frowned “The coach. You bribed the coach to get everyone out of here right after the game... Everyone but John”

“Exactly. It was easy… far too easy. Lucky for me money is a vicious motivator and love... well, John here gets very easily distracted with even the slightest mention of you. Magnussen here helped with the sedatives and obtaining the guns. He was very good connections.” Moriarty smirked maliciously.

Sherlock considered his options carefully “I’ll give you the part! I’ll quit ballet for good! Just please…. Give me John back” he was surprised his voice remained at least somewhat even, considering the speed at which his heart was racing.

Moriarty’s grin fell completely and was replaced with a look of pure hatred and repulsion.

“That’s exactly what the problem here is Sher….It started off as a ballet issue. At lest with poor Carl boy there, taking what was rightfully mine in the first place and claiming it for his own” he shook his head and started smiling again, the edges of his mouth curling upwards in a mocking grin.

“But now it’s so much more… You defied me Sherlock. I was intrigued by you from the very beginning. I’ve wanted to have you for so long, with that pretty face and that intellect…we could have been equals you know. But this one.” He turned back to look at John’s unconscious face “This unworthy ordinary and dull boy got there first. And then… you defied me. You ignored my threats and challenged me.”

Moriarty took a couple of steps forward towards Sherlock’s retreating figure “You pried on my poisoning of the Powers boy...then again, you would’ve figured it out sooner or later but you couldn’t just keep your mouth shut and let him die.” He shrugged, dismissing the matter  “Best make it interesting for me now eh Sher? I can kill you both now and get it over with. Or kill him and have you join me. Either way Sherlock. You can’t be in the side of the angels forever. It’s too dull… even for you”

The fire crackled as the flames rose higher. The smell of burning cloth and plastic was pungent and intoxicating in the air. Sherlock and Jim themselves were a few feet away from the fire but it still made his head swim with the fumes.

A soft groan made Sherlock’s head snap sideways. John was starting to stir, his eyes were fluttering open and the blood flow rushing to his head seemed to speed, his cheeks tainted and forehead tinted an angry purple. “Shlo’k…”he mumbled, shifting. The entire rope swung with him, far too frail to be able to hold John’s weight much longer. Sherlock’s heart sped as he tried to think of how to stall Moriarty’s inevitable final move to kill either of them, Sherlock hoped it was him.

Before he came to meet Moriarty he had begrudgingly called Mycroft. He knew he had to. He knew John was in trouble and he did not want to risk the chance of needing an ambulance for either John or himself or any other people the psychopath had dragged into this. Sherlock also knew that whenever he met this person he had no longer any interest for challenging them. He had only interest for putting them behind bars for hurting or even threatening John. And for that he needed the police and there was no faster way of having them present than to call his older brother. Sherlock tried to think of something, anything he could say to make Moriarty keep talking, enough time for the police to arrive and for john to be taken down safely with Sherlock.

“I will never join you. Yes I may be on the side of the angels but I’m not one of them. Killing me? What good would that do? You would just get _bored._ Yes I accepted the challenge because I need it. But you do too…Don’t underestimate me Moriarty. You may have blindsided me this time but I’m not naïve enough to think I could win this round on my own. I may be arrogant but I’m not an idiot.”

Moriarty’s grin turned into a scowl, the edges of his grin turning down but his teeth kept showing in an ugly grimace. “What did you do” he snapped, for the first time raising his voice in the entire encounter. His façade of complete calm cracked open and real panic struck on his face before it was taken by a full wave of disappointment. “The great Sherlock Holmes asking for help? I thought you were pitiful before but this… this is just pathetic.”

“It’s not pathetic to know your options. To calculate the routes and realize the probability of triumph is perhaps... not on the path of solitude.” His eyes flickered almost imperceptibly to John, silently apologizing for thinking he could do anything by himself

 “YOU’RE WEAK” Moriarty screeched, loading the gun and pointing it at Sherlock. Magnussen had stopped feeding the fire and was now staring at them both in shocked fear. “He- he called someone? What does that mean? Jim we need to get out of here!” his breaths were coming in panicked gasps and without a look back at Moriarty he sprinted out of the rugby field at full speed.

“n-nuuh do-n’t” John tried to break himself free but the flames were licking higher and the smoke was beginning to cover him. That didn’t stop him from struggling against the rope, trying to stop Moriarty from shooting Sherlock.

Moriarty groaned, muttering about the uselessness of people these days before he pointed the gun at Sherlock’s head and narrowed his eyes. Sherlock braced himself, accepting his fate before Moriarty’s grin flickered back “You shouldn’t have defied me Sherlock. You might have asked for help but I _will_ be back… and this time I’ll kill _you_ ” he spat, before he turned his arms around and shot the rope holding John above the fire.

The thin bundle of strings snapped and John screamed as he fell, still wrapped tightly in the rope and unable to stop himself from falling directly into the centre of the blazing fire. “I’ll see you around Sherlock Holmes” Moriarty drawled “Soon enough”. 

“JOHN!” Sherlock screamed, as Moriarty laughed and ran off in the same direction as Magnussen. Sherlock panicked for a full second before he threw himself into the pit of flames that had completely engulfed John. He could hear the screams of help and agony as he threw the burning rugby equipment away, ignoring the blistering heat that burned his palms and arms. The lunged himself forward as he caught sight of John’s face, his eyes closing as he once again began losing consciousness in the middle of the inferno and the toxic fumes.

Sherlock snatched John’s arm and pulled with all his strength, barely managing to drag him away from the flames licking away at John’s skin. It seemed as if the worst of the damage was to his arms and neck, as he had managed to raise his forearms to cover his face as he fell face-forward into the flames when Moriarty had shot the rope.

Sherlock tried not to panic as he dragged John’s unresponsive body away from the fire, patting away frantically at some of the places where his shirt had caught some of the flames. He kneeled on the cold, damp grass and as carefully as he could placed John’s head on his lap, feeling with his right hand for a pulse on his neck, it was soft and dulled. “JOHN! JOHN! Can you hear me?!” Nothing happened. John showed no signs of any response. “Please” Sherlock cried, trembling as he held John’s face in his hands. He carded his fingers through John’s long fringe covering his forehead but his hand came away trickling with blood.

He pushed the hair away and saw John’s temple was forming a large bruise around a cut that was bleeding profusely, presumably it was one of the places that had taken most of the impact when John had fallen.  Sherlock whimpered. “John... please”.

He searched John’s body with his eyes but only found his softening pained breathing and his burnt arms twitching slightly with silent agony. He made no signs of waking up, however. Sherlock had no way of knowing if he was concussed and he begged with John to wake, to move, to squeeze his hand or say something, anything. Sherlock tugged at the rope around John’s body as hard as he could but it wouldn’t give so he desperately tightened his hold on his body, making sure to hold him where he was the least burnt as his breaths began to come in desperate gulps of air and dry sobs.

There was no water around that could calm Jon’s twitching arms and Sherlock looked up at the sky, silently begging for a drop. For anything. But the sky has cleared as it edged into the night and instead of under cloud they were suddenly under stars. And it seemed like all the water that had rained down incessantly for the past weeks had completely dried up as the air was now withered and parched and empty. Sherlock looked down at John’s unconscious face, looking almost peaceful as he lay in Sherlock’s arms. And as Sherlock began to hear the sirens of the police and the ambulance in the distance, rapidly approaching them, the only water drops that patted down on John’s face were Sherlock’s silent tears and the only wisps of air were the whispered sobs of “I love you… I love you… I love you”.

….

John opened his eyes into a blinding white light. He groaned painfully and closed them firmly shut again, trying to raise his hands to cover his eyes but hissing in pain at the movement when he tried to move his arms. _What happened? Jesus everything hurts._

“I see you’re finally coming around Mr.Watson”

John’s eyes flew open once again at the sound of a stranger’s voice. His vision this time, adjusted more easily and he was able to swivel his head around and see a man in an impeccable three piece suit sitting in a chair a respectful distance from his bed, staring at him in curious interest, as if he were an experiment. He looked no older than 20 years old but held an air of importance and superiority over himself with ease. He had a long nose and copper coloured hair, slicked back perfectly.

“Wh-where’s Sherlock? What happened? Who.. who are you?” John frowned at the utter calm in the man’s face. He was twirling a think black umbrella in his right hand and tapping his knee with the other.

The man smiled “Surely you remember the fire. And Moriarty.” He cocked his head “I am Sherlock’s brother, Mycroft Holmes. Sherlock went home for a much needed change of clothes. Hadn’t left your side in days. In his distress he wasn’t even able to tell by your increased reactions to outward stimuli that you would wake up today and I needed to speal with you before Sherlock could steal you away”. _Ahh I should have known._ John thought. This man’s features were far too angular and smooth to belong to any other family other than the Holmes’s.

John sighed “So you forced him to leave?” he thought for a moment “Actually…thank you.. I wouldn’t want him worrying so much about me. I bet he hasn’t slept or eaten anything either” he huffed a fond but humourless laugh.

Mycroft looked surprised for a moment before he composed himself again. “What are your intentions with Sherlock Holmes? I understand you are planning on singing for military”

John shook his head “No. Me first how long was I out?”

Mycroft’s expression did not change as he tonelessly answered “Four days. Your sister Harriet came by a few days ago, as did your mother and some boys who I assume are your friends from school”

John nodded before clearing his throat “Right.” He was glad he hadn’t been awake for his mother and sister visiting but he did wonder how they had reacted to Sherlock when they met him and if they knew they were together. Perhaps Sherlock had told them…. Sherlock… “You’re wrong about the military. I’m not leaving”

Mycorft blinked, making no move to say anything, clearly sensing John was not done explaining himself “I…I realized I was choosing the army for all the wrong reasons, to escape. And even if I don’t have enough money for college if I don’t get the rugby scholarship I can take a year off to save up money, or two... there’s no rush”

The elder Holmes was once again surprised by the blond boy on the hospital bed, getting a clear picture of why his brother would find him so appealing. This boy clearly cared about him a lot, and he wasn’t put off by his strange sleeping or eating habits, he understood him. But he could never be too sure. By Sherlock’s behaviour these last few days he could tell the loss of this boy.. however ordinary he may seem to Mycroft would break his brother, irreparably. “I was prepared to convince you to stay myself. Do not worry about money for college tuition after all you’ve done for Sherlock I’m prepared to cover the cost of it myself-“ Mycroft tried to go on but John was shaking his head

“No. No. I don’t want your money. I’m staying. Sherlock is enough… he’s…more than enough” he looked away from Mycroft, not wanting him to see his reddening cheeks and his small smile, he hadn’t meant to be so direct but he was hooked into an IV which he assumed had morphine flowing into his body and he was still a bit woozy. Since he was looking away he took the chance to look down at his body. His entire chest area was bandaged as were his forearms.

“You broke two ribs in the fall and had severe burns in both chest and arms. As well as a concussion and temple wounds. Nothing overly serious. I assume there is no memory loss” it sounded like a statement and a question so John answered anyway

“No.. I remember everything” he grimaced. “What happened to Moriarty? Is Sherlock alright?” he panicked, mentally berating himself for that not being the very first question out of his lips when he had woken up. After all he had a hazy memory of Sherlock lunging himself into the flames to drag him out of there.

“Minimal burns to his arms.” Mycroft shrugged “He wouldn’t let himself be treated until you were out of surgery for your broken ribs. But he’s perfectly fine.”

John sighed in relief, closing his eyes momentarily before he remembered one of the most important issues in sudden panic. “What happened to Moriarty? Did the police get him?”

Mycroft’s façade twitched in the slightest almost imperceptible way. But John knowing one Holmes as well as he did took it as the flinch it was meant to be. “No. We caught Charles Magnussen Jr, he provided some valuable information but unfortunately we won’t be able to keep him in a juvenile correctional centre for long. His father… has valuable connections. As of Moriarty himself. We will keep looking for him. He left no trail. But we will find him, of that I can assure you”

 John nodded grimly, having expected this of Moriarty anyway and with the smallest hesitation Mycroft cleared his throat and continued speaking in a slightly softer voice “I wanted to thank you for taking care of him john. I may not understand  what goes on in Sherlock’s head.. not anymore anyway. But contrary to what he may believe I do care about him. I try to keep his mind busy with the cases I give him. But I fear sometimes it might never be enough. Thank you for trying to understand him even when he’s.. complicated”

John smiled, he felt himself slowly drifting off again due to the morphine but he kept himself awake. “I love your brother. I’d never hurt him.”

Mycroft nodded, his eyes giving away some surprise to john’s direct clean-cut statement but clearly believing what he was hearing. “I’ll keep an eye out for both of you.” He concluded, standing up and straightening his suit with a practiced hand.

“Thank y-” The door flew open and they both turned to look at it, surprised, as Greg barged into the room.

“JOHN! I heard your voice from outsi-… uhh… sorry. I didn’t realize you uhh… had company.” He looked up at Mycroft, fidgeting slightly under the hard glare of a Holmes John was quite familiar with by now.

“Mycroft Holmes” Mycroft held out a hand, gracefully balancing himself on his glossy umbrella with the other.

Greg took the hand and shook it hesitantly “G-Greg. Greg Lestrade.” Mycroft’s eyebrows rose slightly as their hands touched, blinking twice and letting go of Greg’s hand. He cleared his throat again and nodded at John. “Evening” his voice sounded slightly off.  

John and Greg nodded, Greg staring after Mycroft as he approached the door. Mycroft paused as he  crossed the threshold looking back quickly at Greg before leaving, taking long steps and keeping a perfectly straight back, just as Sherlock usually did.

“What was that?” John asked with a raised eyebrow as Greg took a seat on the chair where Mycroft had just sat on. Greg pulled the chair closer to john’s bed, the legs of the chair scraping the floor loudly with a screech.

“Hmm?” Greg asked, completely caught unaware “What? Nothing.” He was starting to blush slightly and John sorted but dropped the subject, shrugging in pretend-acceptance.

Greg snorted but then his expression turned more serious. “I’m glad you’re awake John… you gave us all a huge fright. I had no idea… I shouldn’t have listened to Moran. I should’ve helped you. I’m sorry”

John shook his head “No Greg you had no way of knowing Moran was being bribed… or that he was such an easy target for Moriarty to take advantage of. I mean we knew he was an arsehole but not to this level…”

Greg nodded “That kid Mori-whatsit was not caught. But Moran sure was. I’m pretty sure he’s spending at least a couple of years in prison if that makes you feel even slightly better”

John laughed “Yeah. It does actually. Bloody awful coach”. Greg laughed in agreement, opening his mouth to say something else when the door opened again, this time slower, almost hesitantly. John rose up slightly and turned towards the door and saw Sherlock standing there looking at John intently, with an expression of almost uncontained emotions that was threatening to spill over any moment now.

Even the hasty scraping screech of the chair beside the bed that followed did not stop john from staring back, adoration and relief as he set his eyes upon the dancer. He wished he could move from this sodding bed and leap into Sherlock’s arms and be surrounded by the familiar chest and arms and scent. Greg, clearly sensing the completely shift in the atmosphere simply cleared his throat and with an encouraging nod to Sherlock and a nod that clearly said ‘I’ll-come-by-later’ to John he set of, closing the door softly behind him.

Sherlock didn’t even acknowledge that Greg had been there at all and instead, without saying a single word bolted to the bed and threw himself into John’s side, even in his rush careful not to mess with John’s bandages. “I’m.. I’m so sorry John” he whispered into the side of John’s neck as John wrapped him as best as he could with his arms, hissing slightly with the effort and sting of the still healing burns.

“Nono.. Sherlock. I’m the one who’s sorry. If I hadn’t acted like an overprotective idiot we wouldn’t have been separated at all and we could’ve faced Moriarty together. You had to do that on your own.”

“If I had listened to you in the first place I wouldn’t have taken the part and nothing would’ve happened to you…”

“I’m sure that’s not true… Moriarty’s an evil and not to mention clearly insane bastard I bet he would’ve done it either way but just blamed it on something else… im just glad you were there to rescue me. Thank you”

“He did kidnap you before I even signed up…. But still. You could’ve died. You almost died on me John. When you fell into the fire I almost…I don’t know what I would have…” Sherlock started shaking his head almost as if he was trying desperately but fruitlessly to erase the thought from his mind, his body trembling in john’s arms. He raised his head and finally met John’s glassy eyes with his own ones. Sherlock looked terrible. Well, he was still beautiful as he always was but he looked like he hadn’t  slept in the four days John had been out, just as John suspected of course. His cheeks seemed shallower as well, also confirming John’s theory that he hadn’t eaten anything at all either. “Oh, love..” John murmured concernedly, taking Sherlock’s thin wrist in his warm hands and grasping it tightly

“I thought you wouldn’t wake up… I thought…” his gaze darkened

“Don’t…I’m here. I’m here now. And… I’m not leaving you. Not ever. Not for the army. Not for anything.”

“But I thought that was what you wanted. To join the army and-”

“No… I realized it that perhaps it was what I _at some point_ in my life wanted. But all that changed, I changed… And I’ll find a way to make ends meet with money if it’s a problem when I apply for colleges next year. Take a year or two off… work on a coffee shop who knows. Maybe I’ll finish my comic book and make it into a series. The stories about us and the dangers we face. The dangers we’re prone to face considering you’re probably going to be a police officer or something equally as dangerous”

Sherlock’s eyes had gone misty, hope beginning to fester in the back of his cyan eyes but he still managed to snort at the last comment “Police officer? Hardly.. that’s boring. I think I’d rather like to be a detective or a professional ballet dancer. Or both.”

“Fine. Maybe you’ll be a detective by morning….. ballet dancer by night” John grinned “And I’ll be there with you. Recording everything that happens in pictures and words and maybe ill study medicine and help you. Or ill study art. Or both.” He smiled, thinking and imagining a suddenly very real vision of what their future could be like together.

Sherlock’s small smile faltered a little “That John did go to the army. Your version of yourself in the comic. Isn’t that how you saw or see yourself?”

The more reason why I shouldn’t go! Even I know that portraying myself after the army is not a good look for me.” John tried to laugh but it fell a bit short so he paused, and licked his lips trying to find the right words to express how much he wanted to stay here with Sherlock. How he wasn’t going to change his mind today, nor tomorrow nor 10 or 60 years from now.

John sighed “Comic John needed to find something that made him feel alive...but… lucky for me.. the _real_ me.. I already did.” With effort he raised his hand and placed it on Sherlock’s cheek, cupping the pale cheekbone and caressing it with his thumb softly. “Ive found my source of adrenaline and danger. But I’ve also found what spurs me on. What makes me feel alive and myself, at last. I love you Sherlock. And I know we’re young. And I know it’s not over in terms of danger for either of us… it might never be. But I promise you that I will stick with you every day. And we’ll fight with villains. And we’ll fight with each other” he laughed, the tears finally spilling from his eyes and judging from the wetness seeping into his palm from Sherlock’s eyes too. “And we’ll protect each other from harm. And we’ll love each other… that’s what I want… Is that what you want too?”

Sherlock nodded, almost frantically, a broken sob escaping from his throat that managed to sound overjoyed and relieved all at once. He let his head fall into the space between John’s shoulder and neck and whimpered slightly as he tried to calm himself down. “Yes. I want that too John. Everything you just said. You’re amazing.. you’re…. You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me. What keeps me grounded. Who makes me feel important and special and normal… not a freak. Not…an abomination but something unique.”

“You _are_ unique. You’re perfect” John tried to raise his head and Sherlock, being the genius that he was instantly caught on with John’s train of thought and ducked to press his slightly chapped lips against john’s. He could feel the exhaustion that had cluttered up inside him start to overflow into his body as the fact that John was alive and awake and well (well enough anyway) finally seeped through. Sherlock whimpered into John’s open mouth and tried to hold on tighter, retreating when John hissed but john furrowed his brow and ignored his stinging pain and held on to Sherlock as tight as he could manage, sliding his lips against his and stroking his wet tongue with his own. They kissed and kissed and kissed until the need of oxygen grew too much to be able to ignore any longer but even then John scooted further onto the centre of the double bed (no doubt Mycroft’s influence) and motioned for Sherlock to clamber on to it with him. John could still feel tremors going through Sherlock’s thin body and slight wetness dampening his neck where Sherlock was furrowed.

“Shhh it’s okay, love. I’m alright. We’re alright”

“I know… I know” and before John could say another word he felt Sherlock’s body relax against his own and soft snores started resounding against his ear. John smile, closing his own eyes and letting the still flowing morphine through his body do its work and deepen him into a peaceful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yaay it's all good now :)))!!!  
> As i said before next chapter will be an epilogue and of course the final chapter -- just to clarify and give closure to what happened with them a couple of months after all of this chaos :) (On with the fluff!!)
> 
> Thanks for reading!!!!!!!


	21. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took me a while and i apologize. Im moving and i thought id have more time to work on it before I left but...   
> Anyway. I finally got some time and I finished it :))) I hope the ending lives up to expectations

John weaved through the crowd of dancers that were rapidly coming out into the backstage area. He scanned the crowds, smiling and congratulating the many dancers he had come to know after the last couple of months in ballet classes. Eventually the whole awkwardness of him breaking Victor’s nose had passed and as the culprit had been found they’d all apologized to both Sherlock and John for believing in the wrong person. John had been congratulated on his right hook more times than he could remember and Victor had, thankfully, left ballet classes, well at least least in that building.

Finally John’s eye finally caught sight of the a familiar curly head at the very back of the room, the boys eyes scanning the crowd as John’s had until their gazes locked and they both grinned at each other. John pushed through the crowd to reach him, careful not to bump into anyone carrying a prop that John had no doubt were more expensive than he could afford to repay.

“Hey” he breathed out as he almost ran into Sherlock. He was wearing his usual black tights but had a thin flowing white long sleeved shirt on top. His eyes were lined up with dark eye liner so their indescribable colour looked brighter than ever and John had ever seen them. Sherlock grinned happily, leaning in, and kissing John hello softly.

“You were absolutely amazing up there. Im so proud of you” John murmured against his lips, eyes still closed and basking in the soft and familiar scent of Sherlock against him. The sounds of the crowd surrounding them were completely muted as they rested their foreheads against each others in the calmness that always overcame them when they were near one another.

Sherlock pulled back with a smile, eyes suddenly shifting down to look down at the bouquet of flowers John was clutching nervously in front of himself in a shy offering to the dancer. John huffed out a small laugh “I uh.. I brought you some flowers… It’s okay if you don’t want them or if it’s too cheesy i just thought i’d..”

Sherlock pressed a gentle finger against John’s lips, silencing him “My John. Always rambling. I love them” he assured him wrapping his fingers around the bouquet and carefully taking it out of John’s grasp. He looked up at John, a blush tainting his cheeks. “I.. thank you”

“My pleasure, baby” John grinned, confidence returning rushing to his sturdy frame. He took hold of Sherlock’s hand and rose it to his face to kiss the knuckles, one by one. “Oh umm… the entire rugby team is here so… that happened” John blurted out, the tips of his ears flushing slightly.

Sherlock rolled his eyes without heat “Yeah i figured their threats to come were actually true. That’s... nice of them” it sounded like a question, as if he wasn’t sure he was saying the right thing.

John laughed “don’t worry I bet most of them will have left by now. I think after seeing your borderline mortified expression when they showed up cheering as loudly as they could to your last “private” practice they figured they would try to be slightly less...enthusiastic in a more public place”

Sherlock laughed, shaking his head fondly “It’s alright, i’m fairly certain my brother came as well. He’s probably still out there on his seat. Far too posh to come out of the building at the same time as everyone else” he rolled his eyes as John chuckled, tugging at his arm lightly for them to walk out.

Sherlock followed John out of the sea of dancers in search of their parents, friends or significant others after the performance. The performance itself  had gone well, Sherlock thought. Molly had looked absolutely stunning in her white flowing dress and he had seen the complete lovestruck look on Mike's face when he spotted her from the audience, which he was pleased with. And although the dancing and small amount of acting of some of the secondary characters had not been quite as spot on as Sherlock had hoped (although he admitted to himself that he could sometimes be overly-perfectionist), overall it had been pretty perfect. After two months Moriarty, although escaped, had made no further contact and Mycroft had been following a lead that pretty much led out of the country itself so both himself and John had deemed it relatively safe for Sherlock to take his place as Romeo. Plus Sherlock knew that Moriarty would never attack now considering Sherlock was not in a vulnerable position and would probably expect any attack. He no longer had the element of surprise or his little friend Charlie Magnussen for useful connections and muscle work.

Just as they were entering the main lobby, where parents were heading towards the exit of the building with their children, John quickly stopped to grab one of the complimentary glasses of water on one of the tables before turning and almost running into Greg who was hurriedly trying to get back into the auditorium, pushing through the swarming crowds of people.

“Hey Greg! We’re over here!” John called out to him as Greg didn’t recognize neither him or Sherlock in his attempt to wade through the mass of people

“Oh. John.. yeah. I was… uh.. I was looking for you” it sounded like a question but he cleared his throat and stood up slightly straighter “Uh yeah. Hey Sherlock!” he seemed to return more to his usual old self “Great job out there! That was fantastic!

“Thank you Greg” Sherlock nodded, his eyes were slightly narrowed and John could tell he was deducing something about Greg. Even he could tell something was worrying him so he had no doubt Sherlock could see right through him. “Congratulations yourself” Sherlock said, a small pleased smile on his lips. Bingo thought John

“For what?” Greg blushed slightly, his eyes shifting nervously, looking anywhere but at Sherlock or John

“For your internship job at the Police department of course” Sherlock said casually, but a smirk was tugging on his lips. “Scotland yard will be lucky to have you”

Greg looked almost relieved for a full second before he looked absolutely confused “Oh! Wait.. how did you-? No. No i didn’t..” Greg tried to argue, shaking his head. John was becoming more and more perplexed by whatever it was Sherlock had seen. Greg had a job at the police department? Why was he denying it?

“Yes you did” Sherlock insisted “I observed”

“How could I have gotten that kind of job?” Greg challenged, a triumphant grin colouring his face.

Sherlock only licked his lips and with the smirk finally winning to take over the expression on his face he said “You’re sleeping with my brother”

Three things happened at once. John, who had been taking a huge gulp from his glass of water sprayed it all over the floor and himself and began coughing uncontrollably, Greg flushed from the tips of his toes to his ears faster than anyone would’ve thought possible and Sherlock blinked, confused by both of their reactions. “wasn’t it obvious John? I-”

“Sherlock” John warned him, still coughing a bit and wiping his mouth and chin with the back of his arm and looking apologetically towards a woman who had been partly sprayed by John’s spitting of the water. “So uhh.. Greg?”

Greg opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, clearly unsure whether to lie or to come out and say the truth but in the end he just cleared his throat a couple of times and sighed in defeat before turning his head sharply towards Sherlock “Dont think this means ill give you full access to any official records of cases Sherlock”

Sherlock shrugged, grinning “Yes it does”

“No it doesnt” Greg frowned

“Yes it does”

“No it really-”

“Greg”

“Fine”

“Great” Sherlock then proceeded to wink at John and turn on his heel, once again heading towards the exit. “Come along John, Greg was supposed to meet my brother in the auditorium after the show”

John looked at Greg amusedly and quietly said “We’re definitely talking about this later”, to which Greg huffed out a laugh and nodded in defeat.

“Guess it’s only fair.”

John grinned and followed Sherlock out of the building, once again taking his hand in his own and lacing their fingers together as they walked out into the pale shine of the moonlight.

As they walked John still needed a couple of minutes before the news that one of his best friends was currently in a relationship (were they in a relationship? Or were they just…. better not think about it) with his boyfriend’s brother. But, just as Sherlock expected, not much time passed before John finally took a deep breath and looked at Sherlock expectantly.

“So… Greg and Mycroft.. funny I had no idea Greg was… well”

“Yes. well, bisexual. Like yourself.”

“Oh. No offence but… If your brother went to school when you were only 5 isn’t he like super old?” he hadn’t seemed that old but John assumed Mycroft was around 24 or 25 that could be a bit weird due to the age difference. John had of course only seem the man in question a couple of times. Once in the hospital after the fire incident and one more time when Sherlock had introduced John to his parents a couple of week later when he had been let out of the hospital and his wounds had healed significantly. Both times he had seemed very intimidating and authoritative, contrary to Sherlock’s parents who had both seemed delighted to meet him. Even Sherlock’s mother, who he had mentioned might be the only one with a problem with Sherlock dating a boy seemed absolutely thrilled her son had found someone.

Sherlock looked confused “No no he’s 19. He just left for school really early.. the smartarse.” he scowled, and John laughed lightly.  

“Oh.. he just looks older with his fancy suits then. It looks a whole lot more than a single year of difference.”

“Yeah… a year” Sherlock frowned thoughtfully “Now that we’re 18. It all just seems so much closer. College… adulthood.” Sherlock slowed his pace, his usually completely straight posture shrunk slightly, and he looked to the floor as they walked hand in hand below the yellow light of the streetlights.

“You scared?” John teased him, squeezing his hand. He meant the question lightly of course but Sherlock’s demeanor showed him that something about their age or about their impending future was worrying him and sometimes the only way to make Sherlock feel safe enough to open up was to not put him in the spotlight and instead sway around the subject.

Sherlock immediately looked up at John “No! Im just wondering…” he hesitated “what will happen to us...after”

John didn’t hesitate in answering “Well… I would say step one is moving in together next year into the flat Mrs Hudson was kind enough to rent the both of us. And then we’ll go to college, maybe together and if not we’ll make it work. And then… well it’s up to us then. Anything we like”

Sherlock breathed out in relief but his brow was still crinkled in concern “Are you sure?”

John squeezed Sherlock’s fingers again reassuringly. There was no way that he would let anything come between them. Whether it was a maniac trying to pose a threat to either of them or something as insignificant as distance if they decided to go to different or far away universities. John had made up his mind to major in medicine and minor in art and Sherlock had decided to double major in chemistry and ballet. John however, had no worry in his mind that they would stay together through it, no matter where they were. “Of course, love. Anything at all”

“Hmm. I… I like the sound of that.”

John turned his head and saw Sherlock smiling down at him with fond eyes and he simply had to stop on his tracks, under the pale light of the moon and raise up on his tiptoes, cupping Sherlock’s face in between both hands “Anything we like” he repeated in a breathy whisper closing the distance between them and kissing Sherlock’s lips softly, lingeringly. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John’s neck, tilting his head and grasping his bouquet of flowers tightly with his right hand.

Anything we like.

Anything at all

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yaaaay!! Happy ending for everyone.. except Magnussen and Coach Moran I guess. I hope you like reading my little balletlock. I had a blast writing it :)) hopefully when I get more used to my new city and get a hold of my schedule and everything I can get to writing the new potterlock or princelock ideas ive been tinkering around with.   
> Thank you for reading and commenting it means so much to me that you guys followed the course of this story and i love you <3333!!!!


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